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gj PROPERTY OF 











f% .-- »»• 










^ 
^ 



^ 



1817 






ARTES SCICWTIA VERITAS 




UNDERSTOOD BETSY 



DOROTHY CANFIELD' 

Anthor of "Tlie B«at Twig," etc. 



aLUBTBATIOSS BT 
ADA C. WILLIAMSON 



i 



NEW YORK 
HSNBT HOLT AND COMPANY 
I 1917 






CorramR, lUS. 1917, 

BT 

THB CKNTURT CO. 
OorTBiaR, 1M7, 

BT 

HKNST HOLT AHD CX)KP^^^ 



• 
« 



• 3 



; I 



> 



FRINTEO IM THE U S- ^ 



Unele Henrj looked at her, ejeing her sidew'aii over the top of one 
V. apectacle -glass. (Page 34 ) 



i^.it"/'-^' 



f 



4 



CONTENTS 

PAffB 

I Aunt Harriet Has a Cough ... 1 

n Betqr Holds the Beins .... 27 

in A Short Morning 52 

IV Betfify Gfoes to School 74 

V What Grade is Betsy? .... 89 

VI If You Don't Like Conversation in a 

Book Skip this Chapter! . . . 110 

YII Elizabeth Ann Fails in an Examination 137 

V 

\ Vin Betsy Starts a Sewing Society . . 161 

. IX The New Clothes Fail .... 186 

X Betsy Has a Birthday .... 201 

XI "Understood Aunt Frances'* ... 234 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Uncle Henry looked at her, eying her sidewise 
OTer the top of one spectacle-glass . Frontispiece 

VAoma 

FAGB 

Elizabeth Ann stood up before the doctor . . 16 

**Do you know,*' said Aunt Abigail, **I think 
it's going to be real nice, having a little girl 
in the house again" 48 

She had greatly enjoyed doing her own hair . 54 

**0h, he's asking for more!" cried Elizabeth 
Ann 78 

Betsy shut her teeth together hard, and started 
across 108 

"What's the matter, Molly? What's the mat- 
ter?" 148 

Betsy and Ellen and the old doll ... 162 

He had fallen asleep with his head on his arms 182 

Never were dishes washed better! . . . 222 

Betsy was staring down at her shoes, biting her 
lips and winking her eyes • . . . 242 



UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

CHAPTEE I 

AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 

When this story begins, Elizabeth Ann, who 
is the heroine of it, was a little girl of nine, 
who lived with her Great-aunt Harriet in a 
medium-sized city in a medium-sized State in 
the middle of this country; and that's all you 
need to know about the place, for it's not the 
important thing in the' story ; and anyhow you 
know all about it because it was probably very 
much like the place you live in yourself. 

Elizabeth Ann's Great-aunt Harriet was a 
widow who was not very rich or very poor, and 
she had one daughter, Frances, who gave piano 
lessons to little girls. They kept a **girl" 
whose name was Grace and who had asthma 
dreadfully and wasn't very much of a **girl" at 



2 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

all, being nearer fifty than forty. Aunt Har- 
riet, who was very tender-hearted, kept her 
chiefly because she couldn't get any other place 
on account of her coughing so you could hear 
her all over the house. 

So now you know the names of all the house- 
hold. And this is how they looked : Aunt Har- 
riet was very small and thin and old, Grace 
was very small and thin and middle-aged. 
Aunt Frances (for Elizabeth Ann called her 
** Aunt,'* although she was really, of course, a 
first-cousin-once-removed) was small and thiTi 
and if the light wasn't too strong might be 
called young, and Elizabeth Ann was very 
small and thin and little. And yet they all had 
plenty to eat. I wonder what was the matter 
with themf 

It was certainly not because they were not 
good, for no womenMnd in all the world had 
kinder hearts than they. You have heard how 
Aunt Harriet kept Grace (in spite of the fact 
that she was a very depressing person) on ac- 
count of her asthma; and when Elizabeth Ann's 



AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 3 

father and mother both died when she was a 
baby, although there were many other consins 
and uncles and aunts in the family, these two 
women fairly rushed upon the little baby- 
orphan, taking her home and surrounding her 
henceforth with the most loving devotion. 

They had said to themselves that it was their 
manifest duty to save the dear Uttle thing 
from the other relatives, who had no idea 
about how to bring up a sensitive, impression- 
able child, and they were sure, from the way 
Elizabeth Ann looked at six months, that she 
was going to be a sensitive, impressionable 
child. It is possible also that they were a lit- 
tle bored with their empty life in their rather 
forlorn, little brick house in the medium-sized 
city, and that they welcomed the occupation 
and new interests which a child would bring in. 

But they thought that they chiefly desired to 
save dear Edward's child from the other kiji, 
especially from the Putney cousins, who had 
written down from their Vermont farm that 
they would be glad to take the little girl into 



4 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

their family. But ^^ anything but the Put- 
neys ! * ^ said Aunt Harriet, a gr6at many times. 
They were related only by marriage to her, 
and she had her own opinion of theni as a 
stiffnecked, cold-hearted, undemonstrative, and 
hard set of New Englanders. **I boarded near 
them one summer when you were a baby, 
Frances, and I shall never forget the way they 
were treating some children visiting there! 
• . . Oh, no, I don't mean they abused them 
or beat them . . . but such lack of sympathy, 
such perfect indifference to the sacred sensi- 
tiveness of child-life, such a starving of the 
child-hedrt. . . . No, I shall never forget it! 
They had chores to do . . .as though they 
had been hired men!" 

Aunt Harriet never meant to say any of 
this when Elizabeth Ann could hear, but the 
little girPs ears were as sharp as little girls' 
ears always are, and long before she was 
nine she knew all about the opinion Aunt Har- 
riet had of the Putneys. She did not know, 
to be sure, what ** chores'* were, but she took 



AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 6 

it confidently from Aunt Harriet's voice that 
they were something very, very dreadful. 

There was certainly neither coldness nor 
hardness in the way Aunt Harriet and Aunt 
Frances treated Elizabeth Ann. They had 
really given themselves up to the new responsi- 
bility, especially Aunt Frances, who was very 
conscientious about everything. As soon as the 
baby came there to live, Aunt Frances stopped 
reading novels and magazines, and re-read one 
book after another which told her how to bring 
up children. And she joined a Mothers' Club 
which met once a week. And she took a cor- 
respondence course in mothercraft from a 
school in Chicago which teaches that business 
by mail. So you can see that by the time Eliza- 
beth Ann was nine years old Aunt Frances 
must have known all that anybody can know 
about how to bring up children. And Eliza- 
beth Ann got the benefit of it all. 

She and her Aunt Frances, were simply in- 
separable. Aunt Frances shared in all Eliza- 
beth Ann's doings and even in all her thoughts. 



6 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

She was especially anxious to share all the lit- 
tle girl's thoughts, because she felt that the 
trouble with most children is that they are not 
understood, and she was determined that she 
would thoroughly understand Elizabeth Ann 
down to the bottom of her little mind. Aunt 
Frances (down in the bottom of her own mind) 
thought that her mother had never really un- 
derstood her, and she meant to do better by 
Elizabeth Ann. She also loved the little girl 
with all her heart, and longed, above everything 
in the world, to protect her from all harm and 
to keep her happy and strong and well. 

And yet Elizabeth Ann was neither very- 
strong nor well. And as to her being happy, 
you can judge for yourself when you have read 
all this story. She was very small for her age, 
with a rather pale face and big dark eyes which 
had in them a frightened, wistful expression 
that went to Aunt, Frances 's tender heart and 
made her ache to take care of Elizabeth Ann 
better and better. 

Aunt Frances was ff raid of a great many 



AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 7 

things herself 9 and she knew how to sympathize 
with timidity. She was always quick to reas- 
sure the little girl with all her might and main 
whenever there was anything to fear. When 
they were out walking (Aunt Frances took 
her out for a walk up one block and down 
another every single day, no matter how tired 
the music lessons had made her), the aunt's 
eyes were always on the alert to avoid any- 
thing which might frighten Elizabeth Ann. If 
a big dog trotted by, Aunt Frances always 
said, hastily: *' There, there, dear! That's a 
nice doggie, I'm sure. I don't believe he ever 
bites little girls. . • . Mercy! Elizabeth Ann, 
don't go near himt . . . Here, darling, just 
get on the other side of Aunt Frances if he 
scares you so" (by that time Elizabeth Ann 
was always pretty well scared), *^and perhaps 
we'd better just turn this comer and walk in 
the other direction. " If by any chance the dog 
went in that direction too, Aunt Frances be- 
came a prodigy of valiant protection, putting 
the shivering little girl^behind her, threatening 



8 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

the animal with her umbrella, and saying in a 
trembling voice, **Go away, sir! Go away I' ' 

Or if it thundered and lightened, Aunt Fran- 
ces always dropped everything she might be 
doing and held Elizabeth Ann tightly in her 
arms until it was all over. And at night- 
Elizabeth Ann did not sleep very well — ^when 
the little girl woke up screaming with a bad 
dream, it was always dear Aunt Frances who 
came to her bedside, a warm wrapper over her 
nightgown so that she need not hurry back to 
her own room, a candle lighting up her tired, 
kind face. She always took the little girl into 
her thin arms and held her close against her 
thin breast. ^'Tell Aunt Frances all about 
your naughty dream, darling, '* she would mur- 
mur, **so's to get it off your mind I'* 

She had read in her books that you can tell a 
great deal about children's inner lives by an- 
alyzing their dreams, and besides, if she did not 
urge Elizabeth Ann to tell it, she was afraid the 
sensitive, nervous little thing would ^^lie awake 
and brood over it." This was the phrase she 



AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 9 

always used the next day to her mother when 
Aunt Harriet exclaimed about her paleness and 
the dark rings under her eyes. So she listened 
patiently while the little girl told hfix all about 
the fearful dreams she had, the great dogs 
with huge red mouths that ran after her, the 
Indians who scalped her, her, schoolhouse on 
fire so that she had to jump from a third-story 
window and was all broken to bits-— once in a 
while Elizabeth Ann got so interested in all 
this that she went on and made up more awful 
things even than she had dreamed, and told 
long stories which showed her to be a child of 
great imagination. But all these dreams and 
continuations of dreams Aunt Frances wrote 
down the first thing the next morning, and, 
with frequent references to a thick book full of 
hard words, she tried her best to puzzle out 
from them exactly what kind of little girl 
Elizabeth Ann really was. 

There was one dream, however, that even 
conscientious Aunt Frances never tried to 
analyze, because it was too sad. Elizabeth Ann 



10 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

dreamed sometimes that she was dead and lay 
in a little white coffin with white roses over her. 
Oh, that made Annt Frances cry, and so did 
Elizabeth Ann. It was very touching. Then, 
after a long, long time of talk and tears and 
sobs and hugs, the little girl would begin to get 
drowsy, and Aunt Frances would rock her to 
sleep in her arms, and lay her down ever so 
quietly, and slip away to try to get a little nap 
herself* before it was time to get up. 

At a quarter of nine every week-day morn- 
ing Aunt Frances dropped whatever else she 
was doing, took Elizabeth Ann's little, thin, 
white hand protectingly in hers, and led her 
through the busy streets to the big brick school- 
building where the little girl had always gone 
to school. It was four stories high, and when 
all the classes were in session there were six 
hundred children under that one roof. You 
can imagine, perhaps, the noise there was on the 
playground just before school I Elizabeth Ann 
shrank from it with all her soul, and clung 
more tightly than ever to Aunt Frances's hand 



AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 11 

as she was led along through the crowded, 
shrieking masses of children* Oh, how glad 
she was that she had Aunt Frances there to 
take care of her, though as a matter of fact no- 
body noticed the little thin girl at all, and her 
very own classmates would hardly have known 
whether she came to school or not. Aunt 
Frances took her safely through the ordeal of 
the playground, then up the long, broad stairs, 
and pigeonholed her carefully in her own 
schoolroom. She was in the third grade, — 
3A, you understand, which is almost the 
fourth. 

Then at noon Aunt Frances was waiting 
there, a patient, never-failing figure, to walk 
home with her little charge; and in the after- 
noon the same thing happened over again. On 
the way to and from school they talked about 
what had happened in the class. Aunt Frances 
believed in sympathizing with a child's life, so 
she always asked about every little thing, and 
remembered to inquire about the continuation 
of evely episode, and sympathized with all her 



12 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

heart over the failure in mental arithmetic, 
and triumphed over Elizabeth Ann's beating 
the Schmidt girl in spelling, and was indignant 
over the teacher's having pets. Sometimes in 
telling over some very dreadfnl failure or dis- 
appointment Elizabeth Ann would get so 
wrought up that she would cry. This always 
brought the ready tears to Aunt Frances's 
kind eyes, and with many soothing words and 
nervous, tremulous caresses she tried to make 
life easier for poor little Elizabeth Ann. The 
days when they had cried they could neither of 
them eat much luncheon. 

After school and on Saturdays there was al- 
ways the daily walk, and there were lessons, all 
kinds of lessons — ^piano-lessons of course, and 
nature-study lessons out of an excellent book 
Aunt Frances had bought, and painting les- 
sons, and sewing lessons, and even a little 
French, although Aunt Frances was not very 
sure about her own pronunciation. She wanted 
to give the little girl every possible advantage, 
you see. They were really inseparable. Eliza- 



AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 18 

beth Ann once said to some ladies calling on 
her aunts that whenever anything happened in 
school, the first thing she thought of was what 
Aunt Frances would think of it. 

**Why is thatr* they asked, looking at Aunt 
Frances, who was blushing with pleasure. 

^ ^ Oh, she is so interested in my school work 1 
And she understands me I'' said Elizabeth Ann, 
repeating the phrases she had heard so 
often. 

Aunt Frances's eyes filled with happy tears. 
She called Elizabeth Ann to her and kissed her 
and gave her as big a hug as her thin arms 
could manage. Elizabeth Ann was growing 
tall very fast. One of the visting ladies said 
that before long she would be as big as her 
auntie, and a troublesome young lady. Aunt 
Frances said: '^I have had her from the time 
she was a little baby and there has scarcely 
been an hour she has been out of my sight. 
Ill always have her confidence. You'll always 
tell Aunt Frances everything, won't you, dar- 
ling t" Elizabeth Ann resolved to do this al- 



14 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

ways, even if, as now, she often had to invent 
things to tell. 

Annt Frances went on, to the callers: **But 
I do wish she weren^t so thin and pale and 
nervous. I suppose it is the exciting modem 
life that is so bad for children. I try to see 
that she has plenty of fresh air, I go out with 
her for a walk every single day. But we have 
taken all the walks around here so often that 
we're rather tired of them. It's often hard to 
know how to get her out enough. I think I'll 
have to get the doctor to come and see her and 
perhaps give her a tonic." To Elizabeth Ann 
she added, hastily: **Now don't go getting no- 
tions in your head, darling. Aunt Frances 
doesn't think there's anything very much the 
matter with you. You'll be all right again 
soon if you just take the doctor's medicine 
nicely. Aunt Frances will take care of her 
precious little girl. She^YL make the bad sick- 
ness go away." Elizabeth Ann, who had not 
known before that she was sick, had a pic- 
ture of herself lying in the little white coffin, all 



AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 16 

covered over with white. ... In a few min- 
ntes Aunt Frances was obliged to excuse 
herself from her callers and devote her- 
self entirely to taking care of Elizabeth 
Ann. 

So one day, after this had happened several 
times, Aunt Frances really did send for the 
doctor, who came briskly in, just as Elizabeth 
Ann had always se^n him, with his little square 
black bag smelling of leather, his sharp eyes, 
and the air of bored impatience which he al- 
ways wore in that house. Elizabeth Ann was 
terribly afraid to see him, for she felt in her 
bones he would say she had galloping con- 
sumption and would die before the leaves cast 
a shadow. This was a phrase she had picked 
up from Grace, whose conversation, perhaps on 
account of her asthma, was full of references 
to early graves and quick declines. 

And yet — did you ever hear of such a case 
before ! — ^although Elizabeth Ann when she first 
stood up before the doctor had been quaking 
with fear lest he discover some deadly disease 



16 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

in her, she was very much hurt indeed when, 
after thumping her and looking at her lower 
eyelid inside out, and listening to her breathing, 
he pushed her away with a little jerk and said : 
* * There 's nothing in the world the matter with 
that child. She's as sound as a nut I What 
she needs is ... ' ' — ^he looked for a moment 
at Aunt Frances's thin, anxious face, with the 
eyebrows drawn together in a knot of consci- 
entiousness, and then he looked at Aunt Har- 
riet's thin, anxious face with the eyebrows 
drawn up that very same way, and then he 
glanced at Grace's thin, anxious face peering 
from the door waiting for his verdict — ^and 
then he drew a long breath, shut' his lips and 
his little black case very tightly, and did not 
go on to say what it was that Elizabeth Ann 
needed. 

Of course Aunt Frances didn't let him off as 
easily as that, you may be sure. She fluttered 
around him as he tried to go, and she said all 
sorts of fluttery things to him, like **But, Doc- 
tor, she hasn't gained a pound in three months 



stood up before tie doctoi 



.«, 



AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 17 

. . . and her sleep . . . and her appetite 
. . . and her nerves. . . . ' ' 

The doctor said back to her, as he put on his 
hat, all the things doctors always say under 
such conditions: **More beefsteak . . . plenty 
of fresh air . . . more sleep . . . 5^6 '11 be 
all right ..." but his voice did not sound 
as though he thought what he was saying 
amounted to much. Nor did Elizabeth Ann. 
She had hoped for some spectacular red pills 
to be taken every half -hour, like those Grace's 
doctor gave her whenever she felt low in her 
mind. 

And just then something happened which 
changed Elizabeth Ann's life forever and ever. 
It was a very small thing, too. Aunt Harriet 
coughed. Elizabeth Ann did not think it at all a 
bad-sounding cough in comparison with Grace 's 
hollow whoop; Aunt Harriet had been cough- 
ing like that ever since the cold weather set in, 
for three or four months now, and nobody had 
thought anything of it, because they wete all 
so much occupied in taking care of the sensi- 



18 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

tive, nervous little girl who needed so much 
care. 

And yet, at the sound of that little discreet 
cough behind Aunt Harriet's hand, the doc- 
tor whirled around and fixed his sharp eyes 
on her, with all the bored, impatient look 
gone, the first time Elizabeth Ann had ever 
seen him look interested. ** What's that! 
What's that!" he said, going over quickly to 
Aunt Harriet. He snatched out of his little 
bag a shiny thing with two rubber tubes at- 
tached, and he put the ends of the tubes in his 
ears and the shiny thing up against Aunt 
Harriet, who was saying, **It's nothing. 
Doctor ... a little teasing cough I've had 
this winter. And I meant to tell you, 
too, but I forgot it, that that sore spot 
on my lungs doesn't go away as it ought 
to." 

The doctor motioned her very impolitely to 
stop talking, and listened very hard through his 
little tubes. Then he turned around and looked 
at Aunt Frances as though he were angry at 



AUNT HARRIET HAS A CQUGH 19 

her. He said, ^'Take the child away and then 
come back here yourself.'' 

And that was alnoiost all that Elizabeth Ann 
ever knew of the forces which swept her away 
from the life which had always gone on, re- 
volving about her small person, exactly the 
same ever since she could remember. 

You have heard so much about tears in the 
account of Elizabeth Ann's life so far that I 
won't tell you much about the few days which 
followed, as the family talked over and hur- 

r 

riedly prepared to obey the doctor's verdict, 
which was that Aunt Harriet was very, very 
sick and must go away at once to a warm cli- 
mate, and Aunt Frances must go, too, but not 
Elizabeth Ann, for Aunt Frances would need 
to give all her time to taking care of Aunt 
Harriet. And anyhow the doctor didn't think 
it best, either for Aunt Harriet or for Eliza- 
beth Ann, to have them in the same house. 
Grace couldn't go of course, but to every- 



20 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

body's surprise she said she didn't mind, be- 
cause she had a bachelor brother, who kept a 
grocery store, who had been wanting her for 
years to go and keep house for him. She said 
she had stayed on just out of conscientiousness 
because she knew Aunt Harriet couldn't get 
along without her! And if you notice, that's 
the way things often happen to very, very 
conscientious people. 

Elizabeth Ann, however, had no grocer 
brother. She had, it is true, a great many rela- 
tives, and of course it was settled she should 
go to some of them till Aunt Frances could 
take her back. For the time being, just now, 
while everything was so distracted and con- 
fused, she was to go to stay with the Lathrop 
cousins, who lived in the same city, although 
it was very evident that the Lathrops were 
not perfectly crazy with delight over the pros- 
pect. 

Still, something had to be done at once, 
and Aunt Frances was so frantic with the 
packing up, and the moving men coming to take 



AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 21 

the furniture to storage, and her anxiety over 
her mother — she had switched to Aunt Har- 
riet, you see, all the conscientiousness she had 
lavished on Elizabeth Ann — ^nothing much 
could be extracted from her about Elizabeth 
Ann. ''Just keep her for the present, Molly!'* 
she said to Cousin Molly Lathrop. ''I'll do 
something soon. I'll write you. I'll make 
another arrangement « . . but just now. • . ." 

Her voice was quavering on the edge of tears, 
and Cousin Molly Lathrop, who hated scenes, 
said hastily, "Yes, oh, yes, of course. For the 
present ..." and went away, thinking that 
she didn't see why she should have all the dis- 
agreeable things to do. When she had her 
husband's tyrannical old mother to take care 
of, wasn't that enough, without adding to the 
household such a nervous, spoiled, morbid 
young one as Elizabeth Ann! 

Elizabeth Ann did not of course for a mo- 
ment dream that Cousin Molly was thinking any 
such things about her, but she could not help 
seeing that Cousin Molly was not any too en- 



22 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

thusiastic about taking her in; and she was al- 
ready feeling terribly forlorn about the sud- 
den, unexpected change in Aunt Frances, who 
had been so wrapped up in her and now was 
just as much wrapped up in Aunt Harriet. 
Do you know, I am sorry for Elizabeth Ann, 
and, what^s more, I have been ever since this 
story began. 

Well, since I promised you that I was not go- 
ing to tell about more tears, I won't say a sin- 
gle word about the day when the two aunts 
went away on the train, for there is nothing 
much but tears to tell about, except pei^haps an 
absent look in Aunt Frances 's eyes which hurt 
the little girPs feelings dreadfully. 

And then Cousin Molly took the hand of the 
sobbing little girl and led her back to the 
Lathrop house. But if you think you are now 
going to hear about the Lathrops, you are quite 
mistaken, for just at this moment old Mrs. 
Lathrop took a hand in the matter. She was 
Cousin Molly's husband's mother, and, of 
course, no relation at all to Elizabeth Ann, and 



AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 28 

so was less enthusiastic than anybody else. All 
that Elizabeth Ann ever saw of this old lady, 
who now turned the current of her life again, 
was her head, sticking out of a second-story win- 
dow ; and that 's all that you need to know about 
her, either. It was a very much agitated old 
head, and it bobbed and shook with the inten- 
sity with which the imperative old voice called 
upon Cousin Molly and Elizabeth Ann to stop 
right there where they were on the front walk. 

**The doctor says that what^s the matter 
with Bridget is scarlet fever, and we've all got 
to be quarantined. There's no earthly sense 
bringing that child in to be sick and have ij:, 
and be nursed, and make the quarantine twice 
as long!*' 

^^But, Mother!'' called Cousin Molly, **I 
can't leave the child in the middle of the 
street!" 

Elizabeth Ann was actually glad to hear 
her say that, because she was feeling so aw- 
fully unwanted, which is, if you think of it, not 
a very cheerful feeling for a little girl who 



24 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

has been the hub round which a whole house- 
hold was revolving. 

**You don't have to!'' shouted old Mrs. 
Lathrop out of her second-story window. Al- 
though she did not add *'You gump!" aloud, 
you could feel she was meaning just that. 
** You don't have to ! You can just send her to 
the Putney cousins. AH nonsense about her not 
going there in the first place. They invited her 
the minute they heard of Harriet's being so 
bad. They're the natural ones to take her in. 
Abigail is her mother's own aunt, and Ann is 
her own first-cousin-once-removed ... just 
as close as Harriet and Frances are, and much 
closer than you ! And on a farm and all . . . 
just the place for her ! ' ' 

* * But how under the sun, Mother ! ' ' shouted 
Cousin Molly back, **can I get her to the Put- 
neys'f You can't send a child of nine a thou- 
sand miles without ..." 

Old Mrs. Lathrop looked again as though 
she were saying **You gump!" and said aloud, 
**Why, there's James, going to New York on. 



AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 26 

business in a few days anyhow. He can just 
go now, and take her along and put her on the 
right train at Albany. If he wires from here, 
they'll meet her in Hillsboro." 

And that was just what happened. Perhaps 
you may have guessed by this time that when 
old Mrs. Lathrop issued orders they were usu- 
ally obeyed. As to who the Bridget was who 
had the scarlet fever, I know no more than you. 
I take it, from the name, she was the cook. Un- 
less, indeed, old Mrs. Lathrop made her up for 
the occasion, which I think she would have been 
quite capable of doing, don't youf 

At any rate, with no more if s or ands, Eliza- 
beth Ann's satchel was packed, and Cousin 
James Lathrop 's satchel was packed, and the 
two set off together, the big, portly, middle- 
aged man quite as much afraid of his mother 
as Elizabeth Ann was. But he was going to 
New York, and it is conceivable that he thought 
once or twice on the trip that there were good 
times in New York as well as business engage- 



26 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

ments, whereas poor Elizabeth A-nn was being 

* 

sent straight to the one place in the world 
where there were no good times at all. Annt 
Harriet had said so, ever so many times. Poor 
Elizabeth Annl 



CHAPTEEH 

BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 

You can imagine, perhaps, the dreadful ter- 
ror of Elizabeth Ann as the train carried her 
along toward Vermont and the horrible Put- 
ney Farm! It had happened so quickly — ^her 
satchel packed, the telegram sent, the train 
caught — that she had not had time to get her 
wits together, assert herself, and say that she 
would not go there! Besides, she had a sink- 
ing notion that perhaps they wouldn't pay any 
attention to her if she did. The world had 
come to an end now that Aunt Frances wasn't 
there to take care of her! Even in the most 
familiar air she could only half breathe with- 
out Aunt Frances I And now she was not even 
being taken to the Putney Farm ! She was be- 
ing sent I 

She shrank together in her seat, more and 

27 



28 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

more frightened as the end of her journey came 
nearer, and looked ont dismally at the winter 
landscape, thinking it hideous with its brown 
bare fields, its brown bare trees, and the quick- 
running little streams hurrying along, swollen 
with the January thaw which had taken all the 
snow from the hills. She had heard her elders 
say about her so many times that she could not 
stand the cold, that she shivered at the very 
thought of cold weather, and certainly nothing 
could look colder than that bleak country into 
which the train was now slowly making its way. 

The engine puffed and puffed with great 
laboring breaths that shook Elizabeth Ann's 
diaphragm up and down, but the train moved 
more and more slowly. Elizabeth Ann could 
feel under her feet how the floor of the car was 
tipped up as it crept along the steep incline. 
** Pretty stiff grade hereT' said a passenger to 
the conductor. 

**You bet I*' he assented. **But Hillsboro is 
the next station and that's at the top of the 
hill. We go down after that to Butland. ' ' He 



BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 29 

turned to Elizabeth Ann — **Say, little girl, 
didn't your uncle say you were to get off at 
Hillsboro f You'd better be getting your things 
together. ' ' 

Poor Elizabeth Ann's knees knocked against 
each other with fear of the strange faces she 
was to encounter, and when the conductor came 
to help her get off, he had to carry the white, 
trembling child as well as her satchel. But 
there was only one strange face there, — ^not 
another soul in sight at the little wooden sta- 
tion. A grim-faced old man in a fur cap and 
heavy coat stood by a lumber wagon. 

*^This is her, Mr. Putney," said the con- 
ductor, touching his cap, and went back to the 
train, which went away shrieking for a nearby 
crossing and setting the echoes ringing from 
one mountain to another. 

There was Elizabeth Ann alone with her 
much-feared Great-uncle Henry. He nodded 
to her, and drew out from the bottom of the 
wagon a warm, large cape, which he slipped 
over her shoulders. *'The women folks were 



80 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

afraid you'd git cold drivin','' he explained. 
He then lifted her high to the seat^ tossed her 
satchel into the wagon^ climbed up himself, and 
clucked to his horses. Elizabeth Ann had al- 
ways before thought it an essential part of 
railway journeys to be much kissed at the end 
and asked a great many times how you had 
^* stood the trip.'V 

She sat very still on the high lumber seat, 
feeling very forlorn and neglected. Her feet 
dangled high above the floor of the wagon. 
She felt herself to be in the most dangerous 
place she had ever dreamed of in her worst 
dreams. Oh, why wasn't Aunt Frances there 
to take care of her I It was just like one of her 
bad dreams — ^yes, it was horrible! She would 
fall, she would roll under the wheels and be 
crushed to . . . She looked up at Uncle Henry 
with the wild, strained eyes of nervous terror 
which always brought Aunt Frances to her in 
a rush to ^*hear all about it,'' to sympathize, to 
reassure. 

Uncle Henry looked down at her soberly, 



BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 8l 

his hard, weather-heaten old face quite un- 
moved. **Here, you drive, will you, for a 
piece f he said briefly, putting the reins into 
her hands, hooking his spectacles over his 
ears, and drawing out a stubby pencil and a bit 
of paper. ^*IVe got some figgering to do. 
You pull on the left-hand rein to make 'em go 
to the left and t'other way for t'other way, 
though 'tain't likely we'll meet any teams." 

Elizabeth Ann had been so near one of her 
wild screams of terror that now, in spite of her 
instant absorbed interest in the reins, she gave 
a queer little yelp. She was all ready with 
the explanation, her conversations with Aunt 
Frances having made her very fluent in ex- 
planations of her own emotions. She would 
tell Uncle Henry about how scared she had 
been, and how she had just been about to scream 
and couldn't keep back that one little . . . 
But Uncle Henry seemed not to have heard her 
little howl, or, if he had, didn't think it worth 
conversation, for he . . . oh, the horses were 
certainly going to one side I She hastily de- 



82 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

cided which was her right hand (she had never 
been forced to know it so quickly before) and 
pulled furiously on that rein. The horses 
turned their hanging heads a little, and, miracu- 
lously, there they were in the middle of the 
road again. 

Elizabeth Ann drew a long breatji of relief 
and pride, and looked to Uncle Henry for 
praise. But he was busily setting down figures 
as though he were getting his Arithmetic lesson 
for the next day and had not noticed . . . Oh, 
there they were going to the left again I This 
time, in her flurry, she made a mistake about 
which hand was which and pulled wildly on 
the left line! The horses docilely walked oflf 
the road into a shallow ditch, the wagon tilted 
. . . help! Why didn't Uncle Henry help! 
Uncle Henry continued intently figuring on the 
back of his envelope. 

Elizabeth Ann, the perspiration starting out 
on her forehead, pulled on the other line. The 
horses turned back up the little slope, the 
wheel grated sickeningly against the wagon- 



BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 33 

box — she was sure they would tip over! But 
there! somehow there they were in the road, 
safe and sound, with Uncle Henry adding up 
a column of figures. If he only knew, thought 
the little girl, if he only knew the danger he 
had been in, and how he had been saved . . . ! 
But she must think of some way to remember, 
for sure, which her right hand was, and avoid 
that hideous mistake again. 

And then suddenly something inside Eliza- 
beth Ann's head stirred and moved. It came 
to her, like a clap, that she needn't know which 
was right or left at all. If she just pulled the 
way she wanted them to go — ^the horses would 
never know whether it was the right or the left 
reinl 

It is possible that what stirred inside her 
head at that moment was her brain, waking 
up. She was nine years old, and she was 
in the third A grade at school, but that was the 
first time she had ever had a whole thought of 
her very own. At home. Aunt Frances had al- 
ways known exactly what she was doing, and 



^ I 



84 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

had helped her over the hard places before 
she even knew they were there; and at school 
her teachers had been carefully trained to 
think faster than the scholars. Somebody had 
always been explaining things to Elizabeth 
Ann so industriously that she had never found 
out a single thing for herself before. This was 
a very small discovery, but an original one. 
Elizabeth Ann was as excited about it as a 
mother-bird over the first egg that hatches. 
She forgot how afraid she was of Uncle 
Henry, and poured out to him her discovery. 
^^It^s not right or left that matters!'^ she 
ended triumphantly; ^4t's which way you 
want to gol*' Uncle Henry looked at her at- 
tentively as she talked, eyeing her sidewise 

■ 

over the top of ome spectacle-glass. When she 
finished — ^*Well, now, that's so,'* he admitted, 
and returned to his arithmetic. 

It was a short remark, shorter than any 
Elizabeth Ann had ever heard before. Aunt 
Frances and her teachers always explained 
matters at length. But it had a weighty, satis- 



BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 86 

fying ring to it. The little girl felt the im- 
portance of having her statement recognized. 
She turned back to her driving. 

The slow, heavy plow horses had stopped dur- 
ing her talk with Uncle Henry. They stood as 
still now as though their feet had grown to the 
road. Elizabeth Ann looked up at the old man 
for instructions. But he was deep in his figures. 
She had been taught never to interrupt people, 
so she sat still and waited for him to tell her 
what to do. 

But, although they were driving in the midst 
of a winter thaw, it was a pretty cold d^iy, 
with an icy wind blowing down the back of 
her neck. The early winter twilight was begin- 
ning to fall, and she felt rather empty. She grew 
very tired of waiting, and remembered how 
the grocer's boy at home had started his horse. 
Then, summoning all her courage, with an ap- 
prehensive glance at Uncle Henry's arith- 
metic£(l silence, she slapped the reins up and 
down on the horses' backs and made the best 
imitation she could of the grocer's boy's ducL 



86 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

The horses lifted their heads, they leaned for- 
ward, they put one foot before the other . . . 
they were off I The color rose hot on Eliza- 
beth Ann's happy face. If she had started a 
big red automobile she would not have been 
prouder. For it was the first thing she had 
ever done all herself . . . every bit . . . 
every smitch! She had thought of it and she 
had done it. And it had worked ! 

Now for what seemed to her a long, long 
time she drove, drove so hard she could think 
of nothing else. She guided the horses around 
stones, she cheered them through freezing mud- 
puddles of melted snow, she kept them in the 
anxiously exact middle of the road. She was 
quite astonished when Uncle Henry put his 
pencil and paper away, took the reins from her 
hands, and drove into a yard, on one side of 
which was a little low white house and on the 
other a big red bam. He did not say a word, 
but she guessed that this was Putney Farm. 

Two women in gingham dresses and white 
aprons came out of the house. One was old 



BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 87 

and one might be called young, just like Aunt 
Harriet and Aunt Frances. But they looked 
very different from those aunts. The dark- 
haired one was very tall . and strong-looking, 
and the white-haired one was very rosy and 
fat. They both looked up at the little, thin, 
white-faced girl on the high seat, and smiled. 
**Well, Father, you got her, I see,*^ said the 
brown-haired one. She stepped up to the 
wagon and held up her arms to the child. 
**Come on, Betsy, and get some supper, ^^ she 
said, as though Elizabeth Ann had lived there 
all her life and had just driven into town and 
back. 

And that was the arrival of Elizabeth Ann 
at Putney Farm. 

The brown-haired one took a long, strong 
step or two and swung her up on the porch. 
**You take her in. Mother, '' she said. **I^11 
help Father unhitch.^' 

The fat, rosy, white-haired one took Eliza- 
beth Ann's skinny, cold little hand in her soft 
warm, fat one, and led her along to the open 



38 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

kitchen door. **I'm your Aunt Abigail,'^ she 
said. **Your mother ^s aunt, you know. And 
that^s your Cousin Ann that lifted you down, 
and it was your Uncle Henry that brought you 
out from town.'^ She shut the door and went 
on, **I don't know if your Aunt Harriet ever 
happened to tell you about us, and so . . . ' ' 

Elizabeth Ann interrupted her hastily, the 
recollection of all Aunt Harriet's remarks 
vividly before her. * * Oh yes, oh yes ! ' ' she said. 
**She always talked about you. She talked 
about you a lot, she . . .'* The little girl 
stopped short and bit her lip. 

If Aunt Abigail guessed from the expression 
on Elizabeth Ann's face what kind of talking 
Aunt Harriet's had been, she showed it only by 
a deepening of the wrinkles all around her 
eyes. She said, gravely: **Well, that's a good 
thing. You know all about us then.'* She 
turned to the stove and took out of the oven 
a pan of hot baked beans, very brown and 
crispy on top (Elizabeth Ann detested beans), 
and said, over her shoulder, * * Take your things 



BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 89 

oflF, Betsy, and hang 'em on that lowest hook 
back of the door. That's your hook.'' 

The little girl fumbled forlornly with the 
fastenings of her cape and the buttons of her 
coat. At home, Aunt Frances or Grace had al- 
ways taken off her wraps and put them away 
for her. When, very sorry for herself, she 
turned away from the hook, Aunt Abigail said : 
**Now you must be cold. Pull a chair right up 
here by the stove." She was stepping around 
quickly as she put supper on the table. The 
floor shook under her. She was one of the fat- 
test people Elizabeth Ann had ever seen. After 
living with Aunt Frances and Aunt Harriet 
and Grace the little girl could scarcely believe 
her eyes. She stared and stared. 

Aunt Abigail seemed not to notice this. In- 
deed, she seemed for the moment to have for- 
gotten all about the new-comer. Elizabeth Ann 
sat on the wooden chair, her feet hanging (she 
had been taught that it was not manners to put 
her feet on the rungs), looking about her with 
miserable, homesick eyes. What an ugly, low- 



40 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

ceilinged room, with only a couple of horrid 
kerosene lamps for light; and they didn't keep 
any girl, evidently; and they were going to eat 
right in the kitchen like poor people; and no- 
body spoke to her or looked at her or asked her 
how she had ^^ stood the trip*'; and here she 
was, millions of miles away from Aunt Fran- 
ces, without anybody to take care of her. She 
began to feel the tight place in her throat 
which, by thinking about hard, she could al- 
ways turn into tears, and presently her eyes 
began to water. 

Aunt Abigail was not looking at her at all, 
but she now stopped short in one of her rushes 
to the table, set down the butter-plate she 
was carrying, and said ** There!'' as though 
she had forgotten something. She stooped — 
it was perfectly amazing how spry she was — 
and pulled out from under the stove a half- 
grown kitten, very sleepy, yawning ^nd stretch- 
ing, and blinking its eyes. *^ There, Betsy!" 
said Aunt Abigail, putting the little yellow and 
white ball into the child's lap. ** There is one 



BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 41 

of old Whitey^s kittens that didn^t get given 
away last summer, and she pesters the life out 
of me. IVe got so much to do. When I heard 
you were coming, I thought maybe you would 
take care of her for me. If you want to, 
enough to bother to feed her and all, you can 
have her for your own.*' 

Elizabeth Ann bent her thin face over the 
warm, furry, friendly little animal. She could 
not speak. She had always wanted a kitten, 
but Aunt Frances and Aunt Harriet and Grace 
had always been sure that cats brought diph- 
theria and tonsilitis and all sorts of dread- 
ful diseases to delicate little girls. She was 
afraid to move for fear the little thing would 
jump down and run away, but as she bent cau- 
tiously toward it the necktie of her middy blouse 
fell forward and the kitten in the middle of a 
yawn struck swiftly at it with a soft paw. 
Then, still too sleepy to play, it turned its 
head and began to lick Elizabeth Ann's hand 
with a rough little tongue. Perhaps you can 
imagine how thrilled the little girl was at this I 



42 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

She held her hand perfectly still until the kitten 

ft 

stopped and began suddenly washing its own 
face, and then she put her hands under it and 
very awkwardly lifted it up, burying her face 
in the soft fur. The kitten yawned again, and 
from the pink-lined mouth came a fresh, milky 
breath. * * Oh 1 ' ' said Elizabeth Ann under her 
breath. * ^ Oh, you darling 1 ' ' The kitten looked 
at her with bored, speculative eyes. 

Elizabeth Ann looked up now at Aunt Abi- 
gail and said, **What is its name, please?*' 
But the old woman was busy turning over a 
griddle full of pancakes and did not hear. On 
the train Elizabeth Ann had resolved not to 
call these hateful relatives by the same name 
she had for dear Aunt Frances, but she now 
forgot that resolution and said, again, **0h, 
Aunt Abigail, what is its nameT' 

Aunt Abigail faced her blankly. **Namef 
she asked. ** Whose ... oh, the kitten's? 
Goodness, child, I stopped racking my brain 
for kitten names sixty years ago. Name it 
yourself. It's yours," 



BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 43 

Elizabeth Ann had already named it in her 
own mind, the name she had always thought 
she would call a kitten by, if she ever had 
one. It was Eleanor, the prettiest name she 
knew. 

Aunt Abigail pushed a pitcher toward her. 
** There ^s the cat's saucer under the sink. 
Don't you want to give it some milk?" 

Elizabeth Ann got down from her chair, 
poured some milk into the saucer, and called: 
**Here, Eleanor 1 Here, Eleanor!" 

Aunt Abigail looked at her sharply out of 
the comer of her eye and her lips twitched, but 
a moment later her face was immovably grave 
as she carried the last plate of pancakes to the 
table. 

Elizabeth Ann sat on her heels for a long 
time, watching the kitten lap the milk, and she 
was surprised, when she stood up, to see 
that Cousin Ann and Uncle Henry had 
come in, very red-cheeked from the cold 
air. 

**Well, folks," said Aunt Abigail, **don't 



44 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

you think weVe done some lively stepping 
around, Betsy and I, to get supper all on the 
table for youT' 

Elizabeth Ann stared. What did Aunt Abi- 
gail mean? She hadn^t done a thing about get- 
ting supper I But nobody made any comment, 
and they all took their seats and began to eat. 
Elizabeth Ann was astonishingly hungry, and 
she thought she could never get enough of the 
creamed potatoes, cold ham, hot cocoa, and 
pancakes. She was very much relieved that 
her refusal of beans caused no conunent. Aunt 
Frances had always tried very hard to make 
her eat beans because they have so much 
protein in them, and growing children need 
protein. Elizabeth Ann had heard this said so 
many times she could have repeated it back- 
ward, but it had never made her hate beans 
any the less. However, nobody here seemed to 
know this, and Elizabeth Ann kept her knowl- 
edge to herself. They had also evidently never 
heard how delicate her digestion was, for she 
never saw anything like the number of pan- 



BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 46 

cakes they let her eat. All she wanted/ She 
had never heard of such a thing ! 

They still did not ask her how she had 
** stood the trip.^' They did not indeed ask 
her much of anything or pay very much atten- 
tion to her beyond filling her plate as fast as 
she emptied it. In the middle of the meal 
Eleanor came, jumped into her lap, and curled 
down, purring. After this Elizabeth Ann kept 
one hand on the little soft ball, handling her 
fork with the other. 

After supper — ^well, Elizabeth Ann never 
knew what did happen after supper until she 
felt somebody lifting her and carrying her up- 
stairs. It was Cousin Ann, who carried her as 
lightly as though she were a baby, and who 
said, as she sat down on the floor in a slant- 
ceilinged bedroom, **You went right to sleep 
with your head on the table. I guess you're 
pretty tired.*' 

Aunt Abigail was sitting on the edge of a 
great wide bed with four posts, and a curtain 
around the top. She was partly undressed. 



46 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

and was nndoing her hair and brushing it ont. 
It was very curly and all fluffed out in a shin- 
ing white fuzz around her fat, pink face, full 
of soft wrinkles; but in a moment she was 
braiding it up again and putting on a tight 
white nightcap, which she tied under her chin. 

**We got the word about your coming so 
late,'* said Cousin Ann, *Hhat we didn^t have 
time to fix you up a bedroom that can be 
warmed. So you're going to sleep in here for 
a while. The bed's big enough for two, I guess, 
even if they are as big as you and Mother." 

Elizabeth Ann stared again. What queer 
things they said here. She wasn't nearly as 
big as Aunt Abigail! 

** Mother, did you put Shep out?" asked 
Cousin Ann ; and when Aunt Abigail said, * ' No ! 

4 

There! I forgot to!" Cousin Ann went away; 
and that was the last of her. They certainly 
believed in being saving of their words at 
Putney Farm. 

Elizabeth Ann began to undress. She was 
only half-awake; and that made her feel only 



BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 47 

about half her age, which wasn^t very great, 
the whole of it, and she felt like just crooking 
her arm over her eyes and giving up I She was 
too forlorn! She had never slept with any- 
body before, and she had heard ever so many 
times how bad it was for children to sleep with 
grown-ups. An icy wind rattled the windows 
and puffed in around the loose old casings. 
On the window-sill lay a little wreath of snow. 
Elizabeth Ann shivered and shook on her thin 
legs, undressed in a hurry, and slipped into 
her night-dress. She felt just as cold inside as 
out, and never was more utterly miserable than 
in that strange, ugly little room, with that 
strange, queer, fat old woman. She was even 
too miserable to cry, and that is saying a great 
deal for Elizabeth Ann! 

She got into bed first, because Aunt Abigail 
said she was going to keep the candle lighted 
for a while and read. **And anyhow," she 
said, *'I*d better sleep on the outside to keep 
you from rolling out." 

Elizabeth Ann and Aunt Abigail lay very 



48 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

still for a long time, Aunt Abigail reading out 
of a small, worn old book. Elizabeth Ann 
could see its title, ^* Essays of Emerson." A 
book with that name had always laid on the 
center table in Aunt Harriet's house, but that 
copy was all new and shiny, and Elizabeth Ann 
had never seen anybody look inside it. It was 
a very duU-looking book, with no pictures and 
no conversation. The little girl lay on her 
back, looking up at the cracks in the plaster 
ceiling and watching the shadows sway and 
dance as the candle flickered in the gusts of 
cold air. She herself began to feel a soft, 
pervasive warmth. Aunt Abigail's great body 
was like a stove. 

It was very, very quiet, quieter than any 
place Elizabeth Ann had ever known, except 
church, because a trolley-line ran past Aunt 
Harriet's house and even at night there were 
always more or less hangings and rattlings. 
Here there was not a single sound except the 
soft, whispery noise when Aunt Abigail turned 
over a page as she read steadily and silently 



o jott know," said Aunt Abigail, "I Uiink it'a going t 
nice, having a little girl in tlie house again." 



BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 49 

forward in her book. Elizabeth Ann turned 
her head so that she could see the round, rosy 
old face, full of soft wrinkles, and the calm, 
steady old eyes which were fixed on the page. 
And as she lay there in the warm bed, watch- 
ing that quiet face, something very queer be- 
gan to happen to Elizabeth Ann. She felt as 
though a tight knot inside her were slowly 
being untied. She felt — ^what was it she felt! 
There are no words for it. From deep within 
her something rose up softly . . . she drew 
one or two long, half-sobbing breaths. • . . 

Aunt Abigail laid down her book and looked 
over at the child. * * Do you know, ^ ^ she said, in 
a conversational tone, **do you know, I think 
it's going to be real nice, having a little girl in 
the house again.'' 

Oh, then the tight knot in the little unwanted 
girl's heart was loosened indeed! It all gave 
way at once, and Elizabeth Ann burst suddenly 
into hot tears — ^yes, I know I said I would not 
tell you any more about her crying; but these 
tears were very different from any she had 



\ - 



60 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

ever shed before. And they were the last, too, 
for a long, long time. 

Aunt Abigail said, **Well, well!^' and mov- 
ing over in bed took the little weeping girl 
into her arms. She did not say another word 
then, but she put her soft, withered old cheek 
dose against Elizabeth Ann's, till the sobs 
began to grow less, and then she said: **I hear 
your kitty crying outside the door. Shall I 
let her int I expect she'd like to sleep with 
you. I guess there's room for three of us." 

She got out of bed as she spoke and walked 
across the room to the door. The floor shook 
under her great bulk, and the peak of her night- 
cap made a long, grotesque shadow. But as 
she came back with the kitten in her arms 
Elizabeth Ann saw nothing funny in her looks. 
She gave Eleanor to the little girl and got into 
bed again. *' There, now, I guess we're ready 
for the night," she said. **You put the kitty 
on the other side of you so she won't fall out 
of bed." 

She blew the light out and moved over a lit- 



BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 61 

tie closer to Elizabeth Ann, who immediately 
was enveloped in that delicious warmth. The 
kitten curled up under the little girPs chin. 
Between her and the terrors of the dark room 
loomed the rampart of Aunt Abigail's great 
body, 

Elizabeth Ann drew a long, long breath . . . 
and when she opened her eyes the sun was 
shining in at the window. 



\ • \ 



CHAPTER m 

A SHORT MORNING 

Aunt Abigail was gone, Eleanor was gone. 
The room was quite empty except for the 
bright sunshine pouring in through the small- 
paned windows. Elizabeth Ann stretched and 
yawned and looked about her. What funny 
wall-paper it was — so old-fashioned looking I 
The picture was of a blue river and a brown 
mill, with green willow-trees over it, and a man 
with sacks on his horse's back stood in front 
of the mill. This picture was repeated a great 
many times, all over the paper; and in the 
comer, where it hadn't come out even, they 
had had to cut it right down the middle of 
the horse. It was very curious-looking. She 
stared at it a long time, waiting for somebody 
to tell her when to get up. At home Aunt 
Frances always told her, and helped her get 

52 



A SHORT MORNING 68 

dressed. But here nobody came. She disoov^ 
ered that the heat came from a hole in the floor 
near the bed, which opened down into the room 
below. From it came a warm breath of bak- 
ing bread and a muffled thmnp once in a 
while. 

The sun rose higher and higher, and Eliza- 
beth Ann grew hungrier and hungrier. Finally 
it occurred to her that it was not absolutely 
necessary to have somebody tell her to get up. 
She reached for her clothes and began to 
dress. When she had finished she went out 
into the hall, and with a return of her ag- 
grieved, abandoned feeling (you must remem- 
ber that her stomach was very empty) she be- 
gan to try to find her way downstairs. She 
soon found the steps, went down them one at 
a time, and pushed open the door at the foot. 
Cousin Ann, the brown-haired one, was ironing 
near the stove. She nodded and smiled as the 
child came into the room, and said, **Well, you 
must feel rested!'' 

^*0h, I haven't been asleep!" explained 



64 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

Elizabeth Ann, **I was waiting for somebody 
to tell me to get up/^ 

**0h,^^ said Cousin Ann, opening her black 
eyes a little. ^'Were youf '^ She said no more 
than this, but Elizabeth Ann decided hastily 
that she would not add, as she had been about 
to, that she was also waiting for somebody to 
help her dress and do her hair. As a matter 
of fact, she had greatly enjoyed doing her own 
hair — the first time she had ever tried it. It 
had never occurred to Aunt Frances that her 
little baby-girl had grown up enough to be her 
own hairdresser, nor had it occurred to Eliza- 
beth Ann that this might be possible. But as 
she struggled with the snarls she had had a 
sudden wild idea of doing it a different way 
from the pretty fashion Aunt Frances always 
followed. Elizabeth Ann had always secretly 
envied a girl in her class whose hair was all 
tied back from her face, with one big knot in 
her ribbon at the back of her neck. It looked 
so grown-up. And this morning she had done 
hers that way, turning her neck till it ached, 



A SHORT MORNING 65 

so that she could see the coveted tight effect 
at the back. And still — aren't little girls queer! 
— although she had enjoyed doing her own hair, 
she was very much inclined to feel hurt be- 
cause Cousin Ann had not come to do it for 
her. 

Cousin Ann set her iron down with the soft 
thump which Elizabeth Ann had heard up- 
stairs. She began folding a napkin, and said: 
**Now reach yourself a bowl off the shelf yon- 
der. The oatmeal 's in that kettle on the stove 
and the milk is in the blue pitcher. If you 
want a piece of bread and butter, here 's a new 
loaf just out of the oven, and the butter's in 
that brown crock.'' 

Elizabeth Ann followed these instructions 
and sat down before this quickly assembled 
breakfast in a very much surprised silence. At 
home it took the girl more than half an hour 
to get breakfast and set the table, and then 
she had to wait on them besides. She began 
to pour the milk out of the pitcher and 
stopped suddenly. **0h, I'm afraid I've taken 



66 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

more than my share T' she said apologeti- 
cally. 

Cousin A Tin looked up from her rapidly mov- 
ing iron, and said, in an astonished voice: 
**Your share! What do you mean!'^ 

**My share of the quart/' explained Eliza- 
beth Ann. At home they bought a quart of 
milk and a cup of cream every day, and they 
were all very conscientious about not taking 
more than their due share. 

^^Good land, child, take all the milk you 
want!" said Cousin Ann, as though she found 
something shocking in what the little girl had 
just said. Elizabeth Ann thought to herself 
that she spoke as though milk ran out of a 
faucet, like water. 

She was very fond of milk, and she made a 
very good breakfast as she sat looking about 
the low-ceilinged room. It was unlike any 
room she had ever seen. 

It was, of course, the kitchen, and yet it 
didn't seem possible that the same word could 
be applied to that room and the small, dark 



A SHORT MORNING 67 

cubby-hole which had been Grace's asthmatical 
kingdom. This room was very long and nar- 
row, and all along one side were windows with 
white, ruflBied curtains drawn back at the sides, 
and with small, shining panes of glass, through 
which the sun poured a golden flood of light on 
a long shelf of potted plants that took the 
place of a window-sill. The shelf was covered 
with shining white oil-cloth, the pots were of 
clean reddish brown, the sturdy, stocky plants 
of bright green with clear red-and-white flow- 
ers. Elizabeth Ann's eyes wandered all over 
the kitchen from the low, white ceUing to the 
clean, bare wooden floor, but they always came 
back to those sunny windows. Once, back in 
the big brick school-building, as she had sat 
drooping her thin shoulders over her desk, 
some sort of a procession had gone by with a 
brass band playing a lively air. For some 
queer reason, every time she now glanced at 
that sheet of sunlight and the bright flowers 
she had a little of the same thrill which had 
straightened her back and gone up and down 



68 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

her spine while the band was playing. Possi- 
bly Aunt Frances was right, after all, and 
Elizabeth Ann was a very impressionable child. 
I wonder, by the way, if anybody ever saw a 
child who wasn't. 

At one end, the end where Cousin Ann was 
ironing, stood the kitchen stove, gleaming black, 
with a tea-kettle humming away on it, a big 
hot-water boiler near it, and a large kitchen 
cabinet with lots of drawers and shelves and 
hooks and things. Beyond that, in the middle of 
the room, was the table where they had had sup- 
per last night, and at which the little girl now 
sat eating her very late breakfast ; and beyond 
that, at the other end of the room, was another 
table with an old dark-red cashmere shawl on 
it for a cover. A large lamp stood in the mid- 
dle of this, a bookcase near it, two or three 
rocking-chairs around it, and back of it, against 
the wall, was a wide sofa covered with bright 
cretonne, with three bright pillows. Something 
big and black and woolly was lying on this 
sofa, snoring loudly. As Cousin Ann saw the 



A SHORT MORNING 69 

little girl's fearful glance alight on this she ex- 
plained: ** That's Shep, onr old dog. Doesn't 
he make an awful noise I Mother says^ when 
she happens to be alone here in the evening, 
it's real company to hear Shep snore — as good 
as having a man in the house." 

Although this did not seem at all a sensible 
remark to Elizabeth Ann, who thought soberly 
to herself that she didn't see why snoring 
made a dog as good as a man, still she was 
acute enough (for she was really quite an in- 
telligent little girl) to feel that it belonged in 
the same class of remarks as one or two others 
she had noted as ** queer" in the talk at Put- 
ney Farm last night. This variety of talk was 
entirely new to her, nobody in Aunt Harriet's 
conscientious household ever making anything 
but plain statements of fact. It was one of the 
** queer Putney ways" which Aunt Harriet had 
forgotten to mention. It is possible that Aunt 
Harriet had never noticed it 

When Elizabeth Ann finished her breakfast. 
Cousin Ann made three suggestions, using ex- 



60 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

actly the same accent for them all. She said: 
** Wouldn't yon better wash yonr dishes np now 
before they get sticky? And don't you want one 
of those red apples from the dish on the side 
table! And then maybe you'd like to look 
around the house so 's to know where you are. ' ' 
Elizabeth Ann had never washed a dish in all 
her life, and she had always thought that no- 
body but poor, ignorant people, who couldn't af- 
ford to hire girls, did such things. And yet (it 
was odd) she did not feel like saying this to 
Cousin Ann, who stood there so straight in her 
gingham dress and apron, with her clear, bright 
eyes and red cheeks. Besides this feeling, 
Elizabeth Ann was overcome with embarrass- 
ment at the idea of undertaking a new task 
in that casual way. How in the world did you 
wash dishes t She stood rooted to the spot, ir- 
resolute, horribly shy, and looking, though she 
did not know it, very clouded and sullen. 
Cousin Ann said briskly, holding an iron up to 
her cheek to see if it was hot enough: '*Just 
take them over to the sink there and hold them 



A SHORT MORNING 61 

under the hot-water faucet. They'll be clean 
in no time. The dish-towels are those hanging 
on the rack over the stove. '* 

Elizabeth Ann moved promptly over to the 
sink, as though Cousin Ann's words had shoved 
her there, and before she knew it, her saucer, 
cup, and spoon were clean and she was wiping 
them on a dry checked towel. **The spoon 
goes in the side-table drawer with the other 
silver, and the saucer and cup in those shelves 
there behind the glass doors where the china 
belongs,'' continued Cousin Ann, thumping 
hard with her iron on a napkin and not look- 
ing up at all, **and don't forget your apple as 
you go out. Those Northern Spies are just 
getting to be good about now. When they first 
come off the tree in October you could shoot 
them through an oak plank." 

Now Elizabeth Ann knew that this was a 
foolish thing to say, since of course an 
apple never could go through a board; but 
something that had always been sound asleep 
in her brain woke up a little, little bit and 



62 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

opened one eye. For it occurred dimly to 
Elizabeth Ann that this was a rather funny way 
of saying that Northern Spies were very hard 
when you first pick them in the autumn* She 
had to figure it out for herself very slowly, be- 
cause it was a new idea to her, and she was half- 
way through her tour of inspection of the house 
before there glimmered on her lips, in a faint 
smile, the first recognition of humor in all her 
life. She felt a momentary impulse to call 
down to Cousin Ann that she saw the point, but 
before she had taken a single step toward the 
head of the stairs she had decided not to do 
this. Cousin Ann, with her bright, dark eyes, 
and her straight back, and her long arms, and 
her way of speaking as though it never oc- 
curred to her that you wouldn't do just as she 
said — ^Elizabeth Ann was not very sure that 
she liked Cousin Ann, and she was very sure 
that she was afraid of her. 

So she went on, walking from one room to 
another, industriously eating the red apple, the 
biggest she had ever seen. It was the best, too. 



A SHORT MORNING 08 

with its crisp, white flesh and the delioions, 
sour-sweet juice which made Elizabeth Ann feel 
with each mouthful like hurrying to take 
another. She did not think much more of 'die 
other rooms in the house than she had of the 
kitchen. There were no draped ** throws'* over 
anything; there were no lace curtains at the 
windows, just dotted Swiss like the kitchen ; all 
the ceilings wefre very low; the furniture was 
all of dark wood and very old-looking; what 
few imgs there were were of bright-colored 
rags; the mirrors were queer and old, with 
funny old pictures at the top; there wasn't a 
brass bed in any of the bedrooms, just old 
wooden ones with posts, and curtains round the 
tops; and there was not a single plush por- 
tiere in the parlor, whereas at Aunt Harriet's 
there had been two sets for that one room. 
She was relieved at the absence of a piano 
and secretly rejoiced that she would not need 
to practise. In her heart she had not liked her 
music lessons at all, but she had never dreamed 
of not accepting them from Aunt Frances as 



64 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

she accepted everything else. Also she had 
liked to hear Annt Frances boast about how 
much betfter she conld play than other children 
of her age. 

She was downstairs by this time, and, open- 
ing a door out of the parlor, found herself 
back in the kitchen, the long line of snnny win- 
dows and the bright flowers giving her that 
quick little thrill again. Cousin Ann looked up 
from her ironing, nodded, and said: **A11 
through f You'd better come in and get warmed 
up. Those rooms get awfully cold these Janu- 
ary days. Winters we mostly use this room 
so's to get the good of the kitchen stove.'* 
She added after a moment, during which Eliza- 
beth Ann stood by the stove, warming her 
hands: ** There's one place you haven't seen 
yet — ^the milk-room. Mother's down there 
now, churning. That's the door — ^the middle 
one." 

Elizabeth Ann had been wondering and won- 
dering where in the world Aunt Abigail was. 
So she stepped quickly to the door, and went 



A SHORT MORNING 66 

down the cold dark stairs she found there. 
At the bottom was a door, locked apparently, 
for she could find no fastening. She heard 
steps inside, the door was briskly cast open, 
and she almost fell into the arms of Aunt 
Abigail, who caught her as she stumbled for- 
ward, saying: **Well, IVe been expectin' you 
down here for a long time. I never saw a lit- 
tle girl yet who didn't like to watch butter- 
making. Don't you love to run the butter- 
worker over it! I do, myself, for all I'm sev- 
enty-two I" 

**I don't know anything about it,'* said 
Elizabeth Ann. ^*I don't know what you make 
butter out of. We always bought ours." 

**Well, for goodness' sakesT' said Aunt Abi- 
gail. She turned and called across the room, 
** Henry, did you ever I Here's Betsy saying 
she don't know what we make butter out of 1 
She actually never saw anybody making but- 
ter I" 

Uncle Henry was sitting down, near the win- 
dow, turning the handle to a small barrel 



66 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

swung between two uprights. He stopped for 
a moment and considered Aunt Abigail's re- 
mark with the same serious attention he had 
given to Elizabeth Ann's discovery about left 
and right. Then he began to turn the chum 
over and over again and said, peaceably: '*Well, 
Mother, you never saw anybody laying asphalt 
pavement, I'll warrant you! And I suppose 
Betsy knows all about that." 

Elizabeth Ann's spirits rose. She felt very 
superior indeed. **0h, yes," she assured them, 
**I know all about that! Didn't you ever see 
anybody doing that I Why, I've seen them 
hundreds of times I Every day as we went to 
school they were doing over the whole pave- 
ment for blocks along there." 

Aunt Abigail and Uncle Henry looked at her 
with interest, and Aunt Abigail said: **Well, 
now, think of that! Tell us all about itl" 

**Why, there's a big black sort of wagon," 
began Elizabeth Ann, **and they run it up and 
down and pour out the black stuff on the road. 
And that's all there is to it." She stopped, 



A SHORT MORNING 67 

rather abruptly, looking uneasy. Unde Henry 
inquired: **Now there's one thing I've always 
wanted to know. How do they keep that stuflE 
from hardening on themt How do they keep 
it hot!'' 

The little girl looked blank. **Why, afire, I 
suppose," she faltered, searching her memory 
desperately and finding there only a dim recol- 
lection of a red glow somewhere connected with 
the familiar scene at which she had so often 
looked with unseeing eyes. 

"Of course a fire," agreed Uncle Henry. 
"But what do they bum in it, coke or coal or 
wood or charcoal? And how do they get any 
draft to keep it going!" 

Elizabeth Ann shook her head. "I never 
noticed," she said. 

Aunt Abigail asked her now, "What do 
they do to the road before they pour it 
on!" 

"Do!"saidEUzabethAnn. "I didn't know 
they did anything." 

"Well, they can't pour it right on a dirt 



"> 



68 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

road, can they!*' asked Aunt Abigail. *^ Don't 
they pnt down cracked stone or some- 
thing?'' 

Elizabeth Ann looked down at her toes. **I 
never noticed," she said. 

**I wonder how long it takes for it to 
harden!" said Uncle Henry. 

**I never noticed," said Elizabeth Ann, in a 
small voice. 

Unde Henry said, **0h!" and stopped asking 
questions. Aunt Abigail turned away and put 
a stick of wood in the stove. Elizabeth Ann 
did not feel very superior now, and when Aunt 
Abigail said, ^*Now the butter's beginning to 
come. Don't you want to watch and see every- 
thing I do, so's you can answer if anybody 
asks you how butter is made?" Elizabeth Ann 
understood perfectly what was in Aunt's Abi- 
gail's mind, and gave to the process of butter- 
making a more alert and aroused attention 
than she had ever before given to anything. It 
was so interesting, too, that in no time she for- 
got why she was watching, and was absorbed 



A SHORT MORNING 69 

in, the fascinations of the dairy for their own 
sake. 

She looked in the chum as Aunt Abigail un- 
screwed the top, and saw the thick, sour cream 
separating into buttermilk and tiny golden 
particles. **It^s gathering,'^ said Aunt Abi- 
gail, screwing the lid back on. ** Father '11 
churn it a little more till it really comes. And 
you and I will scald the wooden butter things 
and get everything ready. You'd better take 
that apron there to keep your dress clean." 

Wouldn't Aunt Frances have been astonished 
if she coiild have looked in on Elizabeth Ann 
that very &st morning of her stay at the hate- 
ful Putney Farm and have seen her wrapped 
in a gingham apron, her face bright with in- 
terest, trotting here and there in the stone- 
floored milk-room I She was allowed the ex- 
citement of pulling out the plug from the bot- 
tom of the chum, and dodged back hastily to 
escape the gush of buttermilk spouting into 
the pail held by Aunt Abigail. And she poured 
the water in to wash the butter, and screwed 



70 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

on the top herself, and, again all herself (for 
Uncle Henry had gobe off as soon as the but- 
ter had ^^ come") 9 Bwnng the barrel back and 
forth six or seven times to swish the water all 
through the particles of butter. She even 
helped Aunt Abigail scoop out the great yel- 
low lumps — her imagination had never con- 
ceived of so much butter in all the world! 
Then Aunt Abigail let her run the curiously 
shaped wooden butter-worker back and forth 
over the butter, squeezing out the water, and 
then pile it up again with her wooden paddle 
into a mound of gold. She weighed out the 
salt needed on the scales, and was very much 
surprised to find that there really is such a 
thing as an ounce* She had never met it be- 
fore outside the pages of her arithmetic book 
and she didix't know it lived anywhere else. 

After the salt was worked in she watched 
Aunt Abigail's deft, wrinkled old hands make 
pats and rolls. It looked like the greatest fun, 
and too easy for anything; and when Aunt 
Abigail asked her if she wouldn't like to make 



A SHORT MORNING 71 

up the last half-pound into a pat for dinner, 
she took up the wooden paddle oonfidently. 
And then she got one of the surprises that Put- 
ney Farm seemed to have for her. She discov- 
ered that her hands didn't seem to belong to 
her at aUi that her fingers were all thumbs, that 
she didn't seem to know in the least before- 
hand how hard a stroke she was going to give 
nor which way her fingers were going to go. It 
waS| as a matter of fact, the first time Eliza- 
beth Ann had tried to do anything with her 
hands except to write and figure and play on 
the piano, and naturally she wasn't very well 
acquainted with them. She stopped in dismay, 
looking at the shapeless, battered heap of but- 
ter before her and holding out her hands as 
though they were not part of her. 

Aunt Abigail laughed, took up the paddle, 
and after three or four passes the butter was 
a smooth, yellow ball. **Well, that brings it 
all back to me!" she said — ^**when I was a 
little girl, when my grandmother first let me 
try to make a pat. I was about five years old — 



72 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

my I what a mess I made of it 1 And I remem- 
ber — doesn't it seem funny — ^that she laughed 
and said her Great-aunt Ehnira had taught 
her how to handle butter right here in this very 
milk-room. Let's see, Grandmother was born 
the year the Declaration of Independence was 
signed. That's quite a while ago, isn't it! 
But butter hasn't changed much, I guess, nor 
little girls either." 

Elizabeth Ann listened to this statement with 
a very queer, startled expression on her face, 
as though she hadn't understood the words. 
Now for a moment she stood staring up in 
Aunt Abigail's face, and yet not seeing her at 
all, because she was thinking so hard. She 
was thinking! **Why! There were real peo- 
ple living when the Declaration of Independ- 
ence was signed — real people, not just history 
people — old women teaching little girls how to 
do things— right in this very room, on this 
very floor — and the Declaration of Independ- 
ence just signed I ' ' 

To tell the honest truth, although she had 



A SHORT MORNING 78 

passed a very good examination in the little 
book on American history they had studied in 
school, Elizabeth Ann had never to that mo- 
ment had any notion that there ever had been 
really and truly any Declaration of Independ- 
ence at alL It had been like the ounce, living 
exclusively inside her schoolbooks for little 
girls to be examined about. And now here 
Aunt Abigail, talking about a butter-pat, had 
brought it to life I 

Of course all this only lasted a moment, be- 
cause it was such a new idea! She soon lost 
track of what she was thinking of ; she rubbed 
her eyes as though she were coming out of a 
dream, she thought, confusedly: ^*What did 
butter have to do with the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence ? Nothing, of course ! It couldn ^t ! * ' 
and the whole impression seemed to pass out 
of her mind. But it was an impression which 
was to come again and again during the next 
few months. 



N 



CHAPTER IV 

BETSY GOES TO SCHOOL 

Elizabeth Akk was very much surprised to 
hear Cousin Ann's voice calling^ <* Dinner I ^' 
down the stairs* It did not seem possible that 
the whole morning had gone by. "Here," said 
Aunt Abigail, "just put that pat on a plate, 
will you, and take it upstairs as you go. I've 
got all I can do to haul my own two hundred 
pounds up, without any half-pound of butter 
into the bargain." The little girl smiled at 
this, though she did not exactly know why, and 
skipped up the stairs proudly with her butter. 

Dinner was smoking on the table, which was 
set in the midst of the great pool of sunlight. 
A very large black-and-white dog, with a great 
bushy tail, was walking around and around the 
table, sniffing the air. He looked as big as a 
bear to Elizabeth Ann; and as he walked his 

74 



BETSY GOES TO SCHOOL 76 

great red tongue hung out of his noiouth and his 
white teeth gleamed horribly. Elizabeth Ann 
shrank back in terror, clutching her plate of 
butter to her breast with tense fingers* Cousin 
Ann said, over her shoulder: **0h, bother! 
There ^s old Shep, got up to pester us begging 
for scraps I Shep I You go and lie down this 
minute !'' 

To Elizabeth Ann's astonishment and im- 
mense relief, the great animal turned, droop- 
ing his head sadly, walked back across the 
floor, got upon the couch again, and laid his 
head down on one paw very forlornly, turning 
up the whites of his eyes meekly at Cousin 
Ann. 

Aunt Abigail, who had just pulled herself up 
the stairs, panting, said, between laughing and 
puflfing: **I'm glad I'm not an animal on this 
farm. Ann does boss them around so. " *^Well, 
somebody has to I" said Cousin Ann, advanc- 
ing on the table with a platter. This proved 
to have chicken fricassee on it, and Elizabeth 
Ann's heart melted in her at the smell. She 



76 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

loved chicken gravy on hot biscuits beyond 
anything in the world, but chickens are so ex- 
pensive when you buy them in the market that 
Aunt Harriet hadn't had them very often for 
dinner. And there was a plate of biscuits, 
golden brown, just coming out of the oven! 
She sat down very quickly, her mouth water- 
ing, and attacked with extreme haste the big 
plateful of food which Cousin Ann passed 
her. 

At Aunt Harriet's she had always been 
aware that everybody watched her anxiously as 
she ate, and she had heard so much about her 
light appetite that she felt she must live up to 
her reputation, and had a very natural and 
human hesitation about eating all she wanted 
when there happened to be something she 
liked very much. But nobody here knew that 
she ''only ate enough to keep a bird alive,'' 
and that her ''appetite was so capricious!" 
Nor did anybody notice her while she stowed 
away the chicken and gravy and hot biscuits 
and currant jelly and baked potatoes and ap- 



BETSY GOES TO SCHOOL 77 

pie pie — ^when did Elizabeth Ann ever eat such 
a meal before ! She actually felt her belt grow 
tight. 

In the middle of the meal Cousin Ann got 
up to answer the telephone, which was in the 
next room. The instant the door had closed 
behind her Uncle Henry leaned forward, 
tapped Elizabeth Ann on the shoulder, and 
nodded toward the sofa. His eyes were twin- 
kling, and as for Aunt Abigail she began to 
laugh silently, shaking all over, her napkin at 
her mouth to stifle the sound. Elizabeth Ann 
turned wonderingly and saw the old dog cau- 
tiously and noiselessly letting himself down 
from the sofa, one ear cocked rigidly in the 
direction of Cousin Ann's voice in the next 
room. *'The old tyke!'* said Uncle Henry. 
**He always sneaks up to the table to be fed 
if Ann goes out for a minute. Here, Betsy, 
you're nearest, give him this piece of skin 
from the chicken neck.'' The big dog padded 
forward across the room, evidently in such a 
state of terror about Cousin Ann that Eliza- 



78 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

beth Ann felt for him. She had a -fellow-feel- 
ing about that relative of hers. Also it was im- 
possible to be afraid of so abjectly meek and 
guilty an animal. As old Shep came up to her, 
poking his nose inquiringly on her lap, she 
shrinkingly held out the big piece of skin, and 
though she jumped back at the sudden snap 
and gobbling gulp with which the old dog 
greeted the tidbit, she could not but sympathize 
with his evident enjoyment of it. He waved 
his bushy tail gratefully, cocked his head on 
one side, and, his ears standing up at attention, 
his eyes glistening greedily, he gave a little, 
begging whine. **0h, he's asking for more!*' 
cried Elizabeth Ann, surprised to see how 
plainly she could understand dog-talk. * * Quick, 
Uncle Henry, give me another piece!'' 

Uncle Henry rapidly transferred to her plate 
a wing-bone from his own, and Aunt Abigail, 
with one deft swoop, contributed the neck from 
the platter. As fast as she could, Elizabeth 
Ann fed these to Shep, who woofed them down 
at top speed, the bones crunching loudly under 



BETSY GOES TO SCHOOL 79 

his strong, white teeth. How he did enjoy it I 
It did your heart good to see his gasto I 

There was the sound of the telephone re- 
ceiver being hung up in the next room — ^and 
everybody acted at once. Aunt Abigail began 
drinking innocently out of her coffee-cup, only 
her laughing old eyes showing over the rim; 
Unde Henry buttered a slice of bread with a 
grave face, as though he were deep in conjec- 
tures about who would be the next President; 
and as for old Shep, he made one plunge across 
the room, his toe-nails clicking rapidly on the 
bare floor, sprang up on the couch, and when 
Cousin Ann opened the door and came in he 
was lying in exactly the position in which she 
had left him, his paw stretched out, his head 
laid on it, his brown eyes turned up meekly so 
that the whites showed. 

IVe told you what these three did, but I 
haven ^t told you yet what Elizabeth Ann did. 
And it is worth telling. As Cousin Ann stepped 
in, glancing suspiciously from her sober-faced 
and abstracted parents to the lamb-like inno- 



80 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

cence of old Shep, little Elizabeth Ann burst into 
a shout of laughter. It's worth telling about, 
because, so far as I know, that was the first time 
she had ever laughed out heartily in all her life. 
For my part, I'm half surprised to know that 
she knew how. 

Of course, when she laughed. Aunt Abigail 
had to laugh too, setting down her coffee-cup 
and showing all the funny wrinkles in her face 
screwed up hard with fun ; and that made Un- 
cle Henry laugh, and then Cousin Ann laughed 
and said, as she sat down, **You are bad chil- 
dren, the whole four of you I ' ' And old Shep, 
seeing the state of things, stopped pretending 
to be meek, jumped down, and came lumbering 
over to the table, wagging his tail and laugh- 
ing too ; you know that good, wide dog-smile ! 
He put his head on Elizabeth Ann's lap again 
and she patted it and lifted up one of his big 
black ears. She had quite forgotten that she 
was terribly afraid of big dogs. 

After dinner Cousin Ann looked up at the 
clock and said: ^^My goodness! Betsy '11 be late 



BETSY GOES TO SCHOOL 81 

for school if she doesn't start right off.'* She 
explained to the child, aghast at this sudden 
thunderclap, **I let you sleep this morning as 
long as you wanted to, because you were so 
tired from your journey. But of course there's 
no reason for missing the afternoon session." 

As Elizabeth Ann continued sitting perfectly 
still, frozen with alarm. Cousin Ann jumped up 
briskly, got the little coat and cap, helped her 
up, and began inserting the child's arms into 
the sleeves. She pulled the cap well down over 
Elizabeth Ann's ears, felt in the pocket and 
pulled out the mittens. ** There," she said, 
holding them out, *^ you'd better put them on 
before you go out, for it's a real cold day. As 
she led the stupefied little girl along toward the 
door Aunt Abigail came after them and put a 
big sugar-cookie into the child's hand. ** Maybe 
you'll like to eat that for your recess time," 
she said. **I always did when I went to 
school. ' ' 

Elizabeth Ann's hand closed automatically 
about the cookie, but she scarcely heard what 



82 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

was said. She felt herself to be in a bad dream. 
Aunt Frances had never^ no never, let her go 
to school alone, and on the first day of the year 
always took her to the new teacher and intro- 
duced her and told the teacher how sensitive 
she was and how hard to understand ; and then 
she stayed there for an hour or two till Elizabeth 
Ann got used to things t She could not face a 
whole new school all alone — oh, she couldnH, 
she wouldn't! She couldn't! Horrors! Here 
she was in the front hall — she was on the porch ! 
Cousin Ann was saying : **Now run along, child. 
Straight down the road till the first turn to the 
left, and there in the cross-roads, there you 
are.'' And now the front door closed behind 
her, the path stretched before her to the road, 
and the road led down the hill the way Cousin 
Ann had pointed. Elizabeth Ann's feet began 
to move forward and carried her down the 
path, although she was still crying out to her- 
self, ''I can't! I won't! I can't!" 

Are you wondering why Elizabeth Ann 
didn't turn right around, open the front door, 



BETSY GOES TO SCHOOL 88 

walk in, and say, **I can't 1 I won't! Ican'tl'' 
to Cousin Annf 

The answer to that question is that she didn't 
do it because Cousin Ann was Cousin Ann* 
And there's more in that than you think! In 
fact, there is a mystery in it that nobody has 
ever solved, not even the greatest scientists 
and philosophers, although, like all scientists 
and philosophers, they think they have gone a 
long way toward explaining something they 
don't understand by calling it a long name. 
The long name is ** personality," and what it 
means nobody knows, but it is perhaps the very 
most important thing in the world for all that. 
And yet we know only one or two things about 
it. We know that anybody's personality is 
made up of the sum total of all the actions and 
thoughts and desires of his life. And we know 
that though there aren't any words or any fig- 
ures in any language to set down that sum 
total accurately, still it is one of the first things 
that everybody knows about anybody else. And 
that is really all we know ! 



84 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

So I can^t tell you why Elizabeth Ann did 
not go back and cry and sob and say she 
couldn't and she wouldn't and she couldn't, as 
she would certainly have done at Aunt Har- 
riet's. Tou remember that I could not even 
tell you why it was that, as the little fatherless 
and motherless girl lay in bed looking at Aunt 
Abigail's old face, she should feel so comforted 
and protected that she must needs break out 
crying. No, all I can say is that it was because 
Aunt Abigail was Aunt Abigail. But perhaps 
it may occur to you that it's rather a good 
idea to keep a sharp eye on your ** personal- 
ity, ' ' whatever that is ! It might be very handy, 
you know, to have a personality like Cousin 
Ann's which sent Elizabeth Ann's feet down 
the path; or perhaps you would prefer one 
like Aunt Abigail's. Well, take your choice. 

You must not, of course, think for a moment 
that Elizabeth Ann had the slightest intention 
of obeying Cousin Ann. No indeed I Nothing 
was farther from her mind as her feet carried 



BETSY GOES TO SCHOOL 86 

her along the path and into the road. In her 
mind was nothing but rebellion and fear and 
anger and oh, such hurt feelings ! She turned 
sick at the very thought of facing aU the star- 
ing, curious faces in the playground turned on 
the new scholar as she had seen them at home ! 
She would never, never do it I She would walk 
around all the afternoon, and then go back and 
tell Cousin Ann that she couldn't! She would 
explain to her how Aunt Frances never let her 
go out of doors without a loving hand to cling 
to. She would explain to her how Aunt Fran- 
ces always took care of her! ... it was 
easier to think about what she would say and 
do and explain, away from Cousin Ann, than it 
was to say and do it before those black eyes. 
Aunt Frances's eyes were soft, light blue. 

Oh, how she wanted Aunt Frances to take 
care of her 1 Nobody cared a thing about her ! 
Nobody understood her but Aunt Frances! 
She wouldn't go back at all to Putney Farm. 
She would just walk on and on till she was lost, 
and the night would come and she would lie 



86 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

down and freeze to death, and then wouldn't 
Cousin Ann feel . . . Someone called to her, 
^^Isn't this Betsyr' 

She looked up astonished. A young girl in 
a gingham dress and a white apron like those 
at Putney Farm stood in front of a tiny, square 
building, like a toy house. * * Isn 't this Betsy ? ' ' 
asked the young girl again. **Your Cousin 
Ann said you were coming to school today 
and I've been looking out for you. But I saw 
you going right by, and I ran out to stop 
you." 

'*Why, where is the school?" asked Betsy, 
staring around for a big brick, four-story build- 
ing. 

The young girl laughed and held out her 
hand. **This is the school," she said, **and I 
am the teacher, and you'd better come right in, 
for it's time to begiii." 

She led Betsy into a low-ceilinged room with 
geraniums at the windows, where about a 
dozen children of different ages sat behind 
their desks. At the first sight of them Betsy 



BETSY GOES TO SCHOOL 87 

blushed crimson with fright and shyness, and 
hung down her head; but, looking out the cor- 
ners of her eyes, she saw that they, too, were 
all very red-faced and scared-looking and hung 
down their heads, looking at her shyly out of 
the corners of their eyes. She was so sur- 
prised by this that she forgot all about herself 
and looked inquiringly at the teacher* 

* * They don^t see many strangers, * ' the teacher 
explained, **and they feel very shy and scared 
when a new scholar comes, especially one from 
the city.'* 

'*Is this my grade?" asked Elizabeth, think- 
ing it the very smallest grade she had ever 
seen. 

* ' This is the whole school, * * said the teacher. 
** There are only two or three in each class. 
You'll probably have*three in yours. Miss Ann 
said you were in the third grade. There, that's 
your seat." 

Elizabeth sat down before a very old desk, 
much battered and hacked up with knife marks. 
There was a big H. P. carved just over the ink- 



88 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

well, and many other initials scattered all over 
the top. 

The teacher stepped back to her desk and 
took np a violin that lay there. **Now, chil- 
dren, we 'U begin the afternoon session by sing- 
ing * America,' '^ she said. She played the air 
over a little very sweetly and stirringly, and 
then as the children stood up she came down 
close to them, standing just in front of Betsy. 
She drew the bow across the strings in a big 
chord, and said, ^^Now/' and Betsy burst into 
song with the others. The sun came in the win- 
dows brightly, the teacher, too, sang as she 
played, and all the children, even the littlest 
ones, opened their mouths wide and sang 
lustily. 



CHAPTER V 

WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 

Afteb the singing the teacher gave Elizabeth 
Ann a pile of schoolbooks, some paper, some 
pencils, and a pen, and told her to set her desk 
in order. There were more initials carved in- 
side, another big H. P. with a little A. P. 
nnder it. What a lot of children must have 
sat there, thought the little girl as she ar- 
ranged her books and papers. As she shut 
down the lid the teacher finished giving some 
instructions to three or four little ones and 
said, ** Betsy and Ralph and Ellen, bring your 
reading books up here.^' 

Betsy sighed, took out her third-grade reader, 
and went with the other two up to the battered 
old bench near the teacher's desk. She knew 
all about reading lessons and she hated them, 
although she loved to read. But reading les- 
sons ... I You sat with your book open at 

89 



90 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

some reading that you could do with your eyes 
shut, it was so easy, and you waited and waited 
and waited while your classmates slowly stum- 
bled along, reading aloud a sentence or two 
apiece, until your turn came to stand up and 
read your sentence or two, which by that time 
sounded just like nonsense because you^d read 
it over and over so many times to yourself be- 
fore your chance came. And often you didn't 
even have a chance to do that, because the 
teacher didn't have time to get around to you 
at aU, and you closed your book and put it 
back in your desk without having opened your 
mouth. Beading was one thing Elizabeth Ann 
had learned to do very well indeed, but she had 
learned it all by herself at home from much 
reading to herself. Aunt Frances had kept 
her well supplied with children's books from 
the nearest public library. She often read 
three a week — ^very different, that, from a 
sentence or two once or twice a week. 

When she sat down on the battered old bench 
she almost laughed aloud, it seemed so funny 



WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 91 

to be in a class of only three. There had been 
forty in her grade in the big brick building. 
She sat in the middle, the little girl whom the 
teacher had called Ellen on one side, and. Balph 
on the other. Ellen was very pretty, with fair 
hair smoothly braided in two little pig-tails, 
sweet, blue eyes, and a clean blue-and-white 
gingham dress. Ealph had very black eyes, 
dark hair, a big bruise on his forehead, a cut 
on his chin, and a tear in the knee of his short 
trousers. He was much bigger than Ellen, and 
Elizabeth Ann thought he looked rather fierce. 
She decided that she would be afraid of him, 
and would not like him at all. 

* * Page thirty-two, ^ ^ said the teacher. ' * Ealph 
first.'' 

Balph stood up and began to read. It 
sounded very familiar to Elizabeth Ann, for he 
did not read at all well. What was not fa- 
miliar was that the teacher did not stop him 
after the first sentence. He read on and on till 
he had read a page, the teacher only helping 
him with the hardest words. 



92 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

**Now Betsy, '* said the teacher. 

Elizabeth Ann stood up, read the first sen- 
tence, and paused, like a caged lion pausing 
when he comes to the end of his cage. 

**6o on,'* said the teacher. 

Elizabeth Ann read the next sentence and 
stopped again, automatically. 

**Go on/' said the teacher, looking at her 
sharply. 

The next time the little girl paused the 
teacher laughed out good-naturedly. **What 
is the matter with you, Betsy! '* she said. *'Go 
on till I tell you to stop. ' ' 

So Elizabeth Ann, very much surprised but 
very much interested, read on, sentence after 
sentence, till she forgot they were sentences 
and just thought of what they meant. She read 
a whole page and then another page, and that 
was the end of the selection. She had never 
read aloud so much in her life. She was aware 
that everybody in the room had stopped work- 
ing to listen to her. She felt very proud and 
less afraid than she had ever thought she 



WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 93 

could be in a schoolroom. When she finished, 
**You read very well!'^ said the teacher. **Is 
this very easy for youT' 

*^0h, yesl'^ said Elizabeth Ann. 

**I guess, then, that you'd better not stay in 
this class," said the teacher. She took a book 
out of her desk. **See if you can read that." 

Elizabeth Ann began in her usual school- 
reading style, very slow and monotonous, but 
this didn't seem like a ** reader" at all. It 
was poetry, full of hard words that were fun to 
try to pronounce, and it was all about an old 
woman who would hang out an American flag, 
even though the town was full of rebel sol- 
diers. She read faster and faster, getting 
more and more excited, till she broke out with 
''Halt!" in such a loud, spirited voice that the 
sound of it startled her and made her stop, 
fearing that she would be laughed at. But 
nobody laughed. They were all listening, very 
eagerly, even the little ones, with their eyes 
turned toward her. 

^ * You might as well go on and let us see how 



94 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

it came out/' said the teacher, and Betsy fin- 
ished triumphantly. 

^'TTeK/' said the teacher, *^ there's no sense 
in your reading along in the third reader. 
After this you'll recite out of the seventh 
reader with Frank and Harry and Stashie." 

Elizabeth Ann could not believe her ears. 
To be ** jumped" four grades in that casual 
way I It wasn't possible ! She at once thought, 
however, of something that would prevent 
it entirely, and while Ellen was reading her 
page in a slow, careful little voice, Elizabeth 
Ann was feeling miserably that she must ex* 
plain to the teacher why she couldn't read with 
the seventh-grade children. Oh, how she 
wished she could! When they stood up to go 
back to their seats she hesitated, hung her 
head, and looked very unhappy. ''Did you 
want to say something to me?" asked the 
teacher, pausing with a bit of chalk in her 
hand. 

The little girl went up to her desk and said, 
what she knew it was her duty to confess: "I 



WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 95 

can't be allowed to read in the seventh reader, 
I don^t write a bit well, and I never get the 
mental number- work right. I couldn't do any- 
thing with seventh-grade arithmetic!'' 

The teacher looked a little blank and said : ''/ 
didn't say anything about your number- work I 
I don't know anything about it! You haven t 
recited yet." She turned away and began to 
write a list of words on the board. ** Betsy, 
Balph, and Ellen study their spelling," she 
said. *^You little ones come up for your read- 
ing." 

Two little boys and two little girls came for- 
ward as Elizabeth Ann began to con over the 
words on the board. At first she found she 
was listening to the little, chirping voices, as the 
children struggled with their reading, instead 
of studying ** doubt, travel, cheese," and the 
other words in her lesson. But she put her 
hands over her ears, and her mind on her spell- 
ing. She wanted to make a good impression 
with that lesson. After a while, when she was 
sure she could spell them all correctly, she be- 



96 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

gan to listen and look around her. She always 
^'gof her spelling in less time than was al- 
lowed the class, and usually sat idle, looking 
out of the window until that study period was 
over. But now the moment she stopped star- 
ing at the board and moving her lips as she 
spelled to herself the teacher said, just as 
though she had been watching her every min- 
ute instead of conducting a class, ** Betsy, have 
you learned your spelling!'* 

*^Yes, ma'am, I think so,'' said Elizabeth 
Ann, wondering very much why she was asked. 

*' That's fine," said the teacher. *'I wish 
you'd take little Molly over in that comer and 
help her with her reading. She's getting on 
so much better than the rest of the class that I 
hate to have her lose her time. Just hear her 
read the rest of her little story, will you, and 
don't help her unless she's really stuck." 

Elizabeth Ann was startled by this request, 
which was unheard-of in her experience. She 
was very uncertain of herself as she sat down 
on a low chair in the corner of the schoolroom 



FHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 97 

away from the desks, with the little child lean- 
ing on her knee. And yet she was not exactly 
afraid, either, because Molly was such a shy 
little roly-poly thing, with her crop of yellow 
curls, and her bright blue eyes very serious 
as she looked hard at the book and began: 
'^Once there was a rat. It was a fat rat.*^ 
No, it was impossible to be frightened of such 
a funny little girl, who peered so earnestly into 
the older child ^s face to make sure she was do- 
ing her lesson right. 

Elizabeth Ann had never had anything to 
do with children younger than herself, and she 
felt very pleased and important to have any- 
body look up to her! She put her arm around 
Molly's square, warm, fat little body and gave 
her a squeeze. Molly snuggled up closer, and 
the two children put their heads together over 
the printed page, Elizabeth Ann correcting 
Molly very gently indeed when she made a 
mistake, and waiting patiently when she hesi- 
tated. She had so fresh in her mind her own 
suffering from quick, nervous corrections that 



98 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

she took the greatest pleasure in speaking 
quietly and /not interrupting the little girl 
more than was necessary. It was fun to teach, 
lots of fun! She was surprised when the 
teacher said, ^*Well, Betsy, how did Molly dof 

**0h, is the time up?*^ said Elizabeth Ann. 
**Why, she does beautifully, I think, for such 
a little thing. ' ' 

**Do you suppose,*' said the teacher thought- 
fully, just as though Betsy were a grown-up 
person, **do you suppose she could go into the 
second reader, with Eliza t There's no use 
keeping her in the first if she's ready to go 
on." 

Elizabeth Ann's head whirled with this sec- 
ond light-handed juggling with the sacred dis- 
tinction between the grades. In the big brick 
schoolhouse nobody ever went into another 
grade except at the beginning of a new year, 
after you'd passed a lot of examinations. She 
had not known that anybody could do anything 
else. The idea that everybody took a year to 
a grade, no matter what I was so fixed in her 



WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 99 

mind that she felt as though the teacher had 
said: **How would you like to stop being nine 
years old and be twelve instead! And don't 
you think Molly would better be eight instead 
of sixr' 

However, just then her class in arithmetic 
was called, so that she had no more time to be 
puzzled. She came forward with Ralph and . 
Ellen again, very low in her mind. She hated 
arithmetic with all her might, and she really 
didn't understand a thing about it! By long 
experience she had learned to read her teach- 
ers ' faces very accurately, and she guessed by 
their expression whether the answer she gave 
was the right one. And that was the only way* 
she could tell. You never heard of any other 
child who did that, did you? 

They had mental arithmetic, of course (Eliza- 
beth Ann thought it just her luck!), and of 
course it was those hateful eights and sevens, 
and of course right away poor Betsy got the 
one she hated most, 7x8. She never knew that 
one! She said dispiritedly that it was 54, re- 



100 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

membering vaguely that it was somewhere in 
the fifties. Balph bnrst out scornfully, * * 56 ! ' * 
and the teacher, as if she wanted to take him 
down for showing off, pounced on him with 
9x8. He answered, without drawing breath, 
72. Elizabeth Ann shuddered at his accuracy. 
Ellen, too, rose to the occasion when she got 
6x7, which Elizabeth Ann could sometimes re- 
member and sometimes not. And then, oh hor- 
rors! It was her turn again! Her turn had 
never before come more than twice during a 
mental arithmetic lesson. She was so startled 
by the swiftness with which the question went 
around that she balked on 6x6, which she 
knew perfectly. And before she could recover 
Balph had answered and had rattled out a 
108 in answer to 9 x 12 ; and then Ellen slapped 
down an 84 on top of 7 x 12. Good gracious ! 
Who could have guessed, from the way they 
read, they could do their tables like this ! She 
herself missed on 7 x 7 and was ready to cry. 
After this the teacher didn't call on her at all, 
but showered questions down on the other two, 









WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 101 

who sent the answers back with sickening 
speed. 

After the lesson the teacher said, smiling, 
**Well, Betsy, you were right about your arith- 
metic, I guess you'd better recite with Eliza 
for a while. She's doing second-grade work. 
I shouldn't be surprised if, after a good review 
with her, you'd be able to go on with the third- 
grade work." 

Elizabeth Ann fell back on the bench with 
her mouth open. She felt really dizzy. What 
crazy things the teacher said! She felt as 
though she was being pulled limb from limb. 

** What's the matter?" asked the teacher, see- 
ing her bewildered face. 

*^ Why— why," said Elizabeth Ann, *^I don't 
know what I am at all. If I'm second-grade 
arithmetic and seventh-grade reading and 
third-grade spelling, what grade am It" 

The teacher laughed at the turn of her 
phrase. **You aren't any grade at all, no mat- 
ter where you are in school. You're just your- 
self, aren't you? What difference does it 



102 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

make what grade you're in? And what's the 
use of your reading little baby things too easy 
for you just because you don't know your 
multiplication table?" 

**Well, for goodness' sokes !^^ ejaculated 
Elizabeth Ann, feeling very much as though 
somebody had stood her suddenly on her head. 

** Why, what's the matter!" asked the teacher 
again. 

This time Elizabeth Ann didn't answer, be- 
cause she herself didn't know what the matter 
was. But I do, and I'll tell you. The matter 
was that never before had she known what she 
was doing in school. She had always thought 
she was there to pass from one grade to 
another, and she was ever so startled to get a 
little glimpse of the fact that she was there to 
learn how to read and write and cipher and 
generally use her mind, so she could take care 
of herself when she came to be grown up. Of 
course, she didn't really know that till she did 
come to be grown up, but she had her first dim 
notion of it in that moment, and it made her 



■X 



WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 103 

feel the way you do when you're learning to 
skate and somebody pulls away the chair 
you've been leaning on and says, **Now, go it 
alone 1" 

The teacher waited a minute, and then, when 
Elizabeth Ann didn't say anything more, she 
rang a little bell. ^^Eecess time," she said, 
and as the children marched out and began put- 
ting on their wraps she followed them into the 
cloak-room, pulled on a warm, red cap and a 
red sweater, and ran outdoors herself. ^* Who's 
on my side ! ' ' she caUed, and the children came 
darting out after her. Elizabeth Ann had 
dreaded the first recess time with the strange 
children, but she had no time to feel shy, for 
in a twinkling she was on one end of a long 
rope with a lot of her schoolmates, pulling with 
all her might against the teacher and two of 
the big boys. Nobody had looked at her curi- 
ously, nobody had said anything to her beyond 
a loud, **Come on, Betsy!" from Balph, who 
was at the head on their side. 

They pulled and they pulled, digging their 



104 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

feet into the gronnd and bracing themselves 
against the rocks which stuck up out of the play- 
ground. Sometimes the teacher's side yanked 
them along by quick jerks, and then they'd 
all set their feet hard when Balph shouted out, 
**Now, all together y^ and they'd slowly drag 
the other side back. And all the time every- 
body was shouting and yelling together with 
the excitement. Betsy was screaming too, and 
when a wagon passing by stopped and a big, 
broad-shouldered farmer jumped down laugh- 
ing, put the end of the rope over his shoulder, 
and just walked off with the whole lot of them 
till he had pulled them clear off their feet, 
Elizabeth Ann found herself rolling over and 
over with a breathless, squirming mass of chil- 
dren, her shrill laughter rising even above the 
shouts of merriment of the others. She laughed 
so she could hardly get up on her feet again, 
it was such an unexpected ending to the con- 
test. 

The big farmer was laughing too. **You 
ain't so smart as you think you are, are youl" 



WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 105 

he jeered at them good-naturedly. Then he 
started, yelling **WHOA there!** to his horses, 
which had begun to. walk on. He had to run 
after them with all his might, and just climbed 
into the back of the wagon and grabbed the 
reins the very moment they broke into a trot. 
The children laughed, and Ealph shouted after 
him, **Hi, there, Uncle Natel Who*s not so 
smart as he thinks he is, nowl^^ He turned to 
the little girls near him. *^They 'most got 
away from him that time!** he said. **He*s 
awful foolish about leaving them standing 
while he*s funning or something. He thinks 
he*s awful funny, anyhow. Some day they*ll 
run away on him and then where *11 he be!** 
Elizabeth Ann was thinking to herself that 
this was one of the queerest things that had 
happened to her even in this queer place. 
Never, why never once, had any grown-up, pass- 
ing the playground of the big brick building, 
dreamed of such a thing as stopping for a min- 
ute to play. They never even looked at the 
children, any more than if they were in another 



106 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

world. In fact she had felt the school was in 
another world. 

^^Kalph, it's your turn to get the water,'' 
said the teacher, handing him a pail. ^^Want 
to go along?" said Balph gruffly to Ellen and 
Betsy. He led the way and the little girls 
walked after him. Now that she was out of a 
crowd Elizabeth Ann felt all her shyness come 
down on her like a black cloud, drying up her 
mouth and turning her hands and feet cold as 
ice. Into one of these cold hands she felt 
small, warm fingers slide. She looked down 
and there was little Molly trotting by her side, 
turning her blue eyes up trustfully. ** Teacher 
says I can go with you if you'll take care 
of me," she said. **She never lets us first- 
graders go without somebody bigger to help 
us over the log." 

As she spoke they came to a small, clear, 
swift brook, crossed by a big white-birch log. 
Elizabeth Ann was horribly afraid to set foot 
on it, but with little Molly's hand holding 
tightly to hers she was ashamed to say she was 



WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 107 

afraid. Balph skipped across, swinging the 
pail to show how easy it was for him. Ellen 
followed more slowly, and then — oh, don't you 
wish Aunt Frances could have been there! — 
Betsy shut her teeth together hard, put Molly 
ahead of her, took her hand, and started across. 
As a matter of fact Molly went along as sure- 
footed as a little goat, having done it a hun- 
dred times, and it was she who steadied Eliza- 
beth Ann. But nobody knew this, Molly least 
of all. 

Balph took a drink out of a tin cup standing 
on a stump near by, dipped the pail into a 
deep, clear pool, and started back to the school. 
Ellen took a drink and offered the cup to Betsy, 
very shyly, without looking up. After they 
had all three had a drink they stood there for 
a moment, much embarrassed. Then Ellen said, 
in a very small voice, **Do you like dolls with 
yellow hair the bestr* 

Now it happened that Elizabeth Ann had 
very positive convictions on this point which 
she had never spoken of, because Aunt Fran- 



108 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

ces didn't really care about dolls. She only 
pretended to, to be company for her little 
niece. 

**No, I donHT^ answered the little girl em- 
phatically, **I get just sick and tired of al- 
ways seeing them with that old, bright-yellow 
hair ! I like them to have brown hair, jnst the 
way most little girls really do ! * ' 

Ellen lifted her eyes and smiled radiantly. 
*'0h, so do II*' she said. *'And that lovely old 
doll your folks have has got brown hair. Will 
you let me play with her some timef 

*'My folks!*' said Elizabeth Aim blankly. 

**Why yes, your Aunt Abigail and your 
Uncle Henry.'* 

**Have they got a dollf^' said Betsy, think- 
ing this was the very climax of Putney queer- 
ness. 

**0h my, yes!" said Molly, eagerly. ** She's 
the one Mrs. Putney had when she was a little 
girl. And she 's got the loveliest clothes I She 's 
in the hair-trunk under the eaves in the attic. 
They let me take her down once when I was 



WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 109 

there with Mother. And Mother said she 
guessed, now a little girl had come there to 
live, they'd let her have her down all the time. 
I'll bring mine over next Saturday, if you want 
me to. Mine's got yellow hair, but she's real 
pretty anyhow. If Father's going to mill that 
day, he can leave me there for the morning. ' ' 

Elizabeth Ann had not understood more than 
one word in five of this, but just then the 
school-bell rang and they went back, little 
Molly helping Elizabeth Ann over the log and 
thinking she was being helped, as before. 

They ran along to the little buUding, and 
there I'm going to leave them, because I think 
I've told enough about their school for one 
while. It was only a poor, rough, little district 
school anjrway, that no Superintendent of 
Schools would have looked at for a minute, ex- 
cept to sniff. 



CHAPTER VI 

IF YOU DON»T LIKE CONVERSATION IN A 
BOOK SKIP THIS CHAPTER! 

Betsy opened the door and was greeted by 
her kitten^ who ran to her, pnrring and arching 
her back to be stroked^ 

**Well,*' said Aunt Abigail, looking up from 
the pan of apples in her lap, **I suppose you're 
starved, aren't you? Get yourself a piece of 
bread and butter, why don't you? and have one 
of these apples." 

As the little girl sat down by her, munch- 
ing fast on this provender, she asked: **What 
desk did you get?" 

Elizabeth Ann thought for a moment, cud- 
dling Eleanor up to her face. **I think it is the 
third from the front in the second row." She 
wondered why Aunt Abigail cared. **0h, I 
guess that's your Unde Henry's desk. It's 

110 



CONVERSATION IN A BOOK IH 

the one his father had, too. Are there a cou- 
ple of H. P/s carved on it?'' 

Betsy nodded. 

**His father carved the H. P. on the lid, so 
Henry had to put his inside. I remember the 
winter he put it there. It was the first season 
Mother let me wear real hoop skirts. I sat in 
the first seat on the third row.'' 

Betsy ate her apple more and more slowly, 
trying to take in what Aunt Abigail had said. 
Uncle Henry and his father — ^why Moses or 
Alexander the Great didn't seem any further 
back in the mists of time to Elizabeth Ann 
than did Uncle henry's father I And to 
think he had been a little boy, right there at 
that desk I She stopped chewing altogether for 
a moment and stared into space. Although she 
was only nine years old, she was feeling a lit- 
tle of the same rapt wonder, the same aston- 
ished sense of the reality of the people who 
have gone before, which make a first visit to 
the Boman Forum such a thrilling event for 
grown-ups. That very deskl 



112 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

After a moment she came to herself, and 
finding some apple stiU in her mouth, went on 
chewing meditatively. **Aunt Abigail,'* she 
said, **how long ago was that! '* 

** Let's see,'* said the old woman, peeling 
apples with wonderful rapidity. **I was bom 
in 1844. And I was six when I first went to 
school. That's sixty-six years ago." 

Elizabeth Ann, like all little girls of nine, had 
very little notion how long sixty-six years might 
be. * * Was George Washington alive then f ' ' she 
asked^ 

The wrinkles around Aunt Abigail's eyes 
deepened mirthfully, but she did not laugh as 
she answered, *'No, that was long after he 
died, but the schoolhouse was there when he 
was alive." 

*'It was I'' said Betsy, staring, with her 
teeth set deep in an apple. 

**Yes, indeed. It was the first house in the 
valley built of sawed lumber. You know, when 
our folks came up here, they had to build all 
their houses of logs to begin with." 



CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 113 

'* They didi'' cried Betsy, with her mouth 
full of apple. 

*'Why yes, child, what else did you suppose 
they had to make houses out of! They had to 
have something to live in, right off. The saw- 
mills came later.*' 

**I didn't know anything about it,'' said 
Betsy. '*Tell me about it." 

**Why you knew, didn't you — ^your Aunt 
Harriet must have told you — about how our 
folks came up here from Connecticut in 1763, 
on horseback! Connecticut was an old settled 
place then, compared to Vermont. There 
wasn't anything here but trees and bears and 
wood-pigeons. I've heard 'em say that the 
wood-pigeons were so thick you could go out 
after dark, and club 'em out of the trees, just 
like hens roosting in a hen-house. There al- 
ways was cold pigeon-pie in the pantry, just 
the way we have doughnuts. And they used 
bear-grease to grease their boots and their 
hair, bears were so plenty. It sounds like 
good eating, don't itt But of course that was 



114 UNDERiSTOOD BETSY 

just at first. It got quite settled up before 
long, and by the time of the Eevolution, bears 
were getting pretty scarce, and soon the wood- 
pigeons were all gone." 

**And the schoolhouse — that schoolhouse 
where I went today — ^was that built then?*' 
Elizabeth Ann found it hard to believe. 

**Yes, it used to have a great big chimney 
and fireplace in it. It was built long before 
stoves were invented, you know." 

**Why, I thought stoves were always iH" 
vented I" cried Elizabeth Ann. This was the 
most startling and interesting conversation she 
had ever taken part in. 

Aunt Abigail laughed. ** Mercy, no, child 1 
Why, / can remember when only folks that 
were pretty well off had stoves and real poor 
people still cooked over a hearth fire. I al- 
ways thought it a pity they tore down the big 
chimney and fireplace out of the schoolhouse 
and put in that big, ugly stove. But folks are 
so daft over new-fangled things. Well, any- 
how, they couldn't take away the sun-dial on 



CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 116 

the window-sill. You want to be sure to look 
at that. It's on the sill of the middle window 
on the right hand as you face the teacher's 
desk." 
' ' Sun-dial, ' ' repeated Betsy. ' ' What 's that ? ' ' 

**Why to tell the time by, when '' 

**Why didn't they have a clock!" asked the 
child. 

Aunt Abigail laughed. **Good gracious, 
there was only one clock in the valley for years 
and years, and that belonged to the Wardens, 
the rich people in the village. Everybody had 
sun-dials cut in their window-sills. There's 
one on the window-sill of our pantry this min- 
ute. Come on, I'll show it to you." She got 
up heavily with her pan of apples, and trotted 
briskly, shaking the floor as she went, over to 
the stove. *'But first just watch me put these 
on to cook so you'll know how." She set the 
pan on the stove, poured some water from the 
tea-kettle over the apples, and put on a cover. 
**Now come on into the pantry." 
They entered a sweet-smeUing, spicy little 



116 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

room, all white paint, and shelves which were 
loaded with dishes and boxes and bags and 
pans of milk and jars of preserves. 

** There!'* said Aunt Abigail, opening the 
window. ** That's not so good as the one at 
school. This only tells when noon is.'' 

Elizabeth Ann stared stupidly at the deep 
scratch on the window-sill. 

* * Don 't you see ? " said Aunt Abigail. * * When 
the shadow got to that mark it was noon. And 
the rest of the time you guessed by how far 
it was from the mark. Let's see if I can come 
anywhere near it now. She looked at it hard 
and said: **I guess it's half -past four." She 
glanced back into the kitchen at the clock and 
said: **0h pshaw I It's ten minutes past five! 
Now my grandmother could have told that 
within five minutes, just by the place of the 
shadow. I declare ! Sometimes it seems to me 
that every time a new piece of machinery 
comes into the door some of our wits fly out 
at the window! Now I couldn't any more live 
without matches than I could fly! And yet 



CONVERSATION IN A BOOK II7 

they all used to get along all right before they 
had matches. Makes me feel foolish to think 
I^m not smart enough to get along, if I wanted 
to, without those little snips of pine and brim- 
stone. Here, Betsy, take a cooky. It's against 
my principles to let a child leave the pantry 
without having a cooky. My! it does seem 
like living again to have a young one around 
to stuff!'' 

Betsy took the aooky, but went on with the 
conversation by exclaiming, **How could any- 
body get along without matches! You have 
to have matches." 

Aunt Abigail didn't answer at first. They 
were back in the kitchen now. She was look- 
ing at the clock again. **See here," she said; 
**it's time I began getting supper ready. We 
divide up on the work. Ann gets the dinner 
and I get the supper. And everybody gets his 
own breakfast. Which would you rather do, 
help Ann with the dinner, or me with the sup- 
perl" 

Elizabeth Ann had not had the slightest idea 



118 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

of helping anybody with any meal, but, con- 
fronted unexpectedly with the alternative of- 
fered, she made up her mind so quickly that she 
didn't want to help Cousin Ann, and declared 
so loudly, ^*0h, help you with the supper 1'* 
that her promptness made her sound quite 
hearty and willing. **Well, that's fine,'' said 
Aunt Abigail. *>We'll set the table now. But 
first you would better look at that apple sauce. 
I hear it walloping away as though it was boil- 
ing too fast. Maybe you'd better push it back 
where it won't cook so fast. There are th^ 
holders, on that hook." 

Elizabeth Ann approached the stove with 
tiie holder in her hand and horror in her heart. 
Nobody had ever dreamed of asking her to 
handle hot things. She looked around dismally 
at Aunt Abigail, but the old woman was stand- 
ing with her back turned, doing something at 
the kitchen table. Very gingerly the little girl 
took hold of the handle of the saucepan, and 
very gingerly she shoved it to the back of the 
stove. And then she stood still a moment to 



CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 119 

admire herself. She conld do that as well as 
anybody ! 

**Why,'' said Aunt Abigail, as if remember- 
ing that Betsy had asked her a question. ^ ^ Any 
man could strike a spark from his flint and 
steel that he had for his gun. And he'd keep 
striking it till it happened to fly out in the 
right direction, and you'd catch it in some 
flu:^ where it would start a smoulder, and 
you 'd blow on it till you got a little flame, and 
drop tiny bits of shaved-up dry pine in it, and 
so, little by little, you'd build your fire up." 

**But it must have taken forever to do 
that I" 

**0h, you didn't have to do that more than 
once in ever so long," said Aunt Abigail, 
briskly. She interrupted her story to say: 
**Now you put the silver around, while I cream 
the potatoes. It's in that drawer — a knife, a 
fork, and two spoons for each place — ^and the 
plates and cups are up there behind the glass 
doors. We 're going to have hot cocoa again to- 
night.*' ' And as the little girl, hypnotized by the 



120 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

other's casual, offhand way of issuing instruc- 
tions, began to fumble with the knives and 
forks she went on: **Why, you'd start your fife 
that way, and then you'd never let it go out. 
Everybody that amounted to anything knew 
how to bank the hearth fire with ashes at night 
so it would be sure to last. And the first 
thing in the morning, you got down on your 
knees and poked the ashes away very carefully 
till you got to the hot coals. Then you'd blow 
with the bellows and drop in pieces of dry pine 
—don't forget the water-glasses — and you'd 
blow gently till they flared up and the shavings 
caught, and there your fire would be kindled 
again. The napkins tire in the second drawer." 

Betsy went on setting the table, deep in 
thought, reconstructing the old life. As she 
put the napkins around she said, **But some- 
times it must have gone out ..." 

**Yes," said Aunt Abigail, ** sometimes it 
went out, and then one of the children was 
sent over to the nearest neighbor to borrow 
some fire. He'd take a covered iron pan 



CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 121 

fastened on to a long hickory stick, and go 
through the woods — everything was woods 
then — to the next house and wait till they had 
their fire going and could spare him a pan full 
of coals; and then— don ^t forget the salt and 
pepper — ^he would leg it home as fast as he 
could streak it, to get there before the coals 
went out.- Say, Betsy, I think that apple 
sauce is ready to be sweetened. You do it, will 
youl Vve got my hands in the biscuit dough. 
The sugar's in the left-hand drawer in the 
kitchen cabinet.*' 

**0h, myT' cried Betsy, dismayed. ''/ don't 
know how to cook ! ' ' 

Aunt Abigail laughed and put back a strand 
of curly white hair with the back of her floury 
hand. **Tou know how to stir sugar into your 
cup of cocoa, don't you?" 

**But how much shall I put inl" asked Eliza- 
beth Ann, clamoring for exact instruction so 
she woxddn't need to do any thinking for her- 
self. 

**0h, till it tastes right," said Aunt Abigail, 



122 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

carelessly. "Fix it to suit yourself, and I 
guess the rest of us will like it. Take that big 
spoon to stir it with.'* 

Elizabeth Ann took off the lid and began 
stirring in sugar, a teaspoonful at a time, but 
she soon saw that that made no impression. 
She poured in a cupful, stirred it vigorously, 
and tasted it. Better, but not quite enough. 
She put in a tablespoonful more and tasted 
it, staring off into space under bended brows 
as she concentrated her attention on the taste. 
It was quite a responsibility to prepare the 
apple sauce for a family. It was ever so good, 
too. But maybe a little more sugar. She put 
in a teaspoonful and decided it was just exactly 
right I 

"Doner ' asked Aunt Abigail. "Take it off, 
then, and pour it out in that big yellow bowl, 
and put it on the table in front of your 
place. YouVe made it; you ought to serve 
it.'' 

"It isn't done, is it!" asked Betsy. "That 
isn't all you do to make apple sauce 1" 



CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 123 

**What else could you doT' asked Aunt Abi- 

gaa. 

*^Well . . .1^' said Elizabeth Ann, very 

much surprised. **I didn't know it was so 
easy to cook!*' 

** Easiest thing in the world,'' said Aunt 

Abigail gravely, with the merry wrinkles 

around her merry old eyes all creased up with 
silent fun. 

When Uncle Henry came in from the bam, 
with old Shep at his heels, and Cousin Ann 
came down from upstairs, where her sewing- 
machine had been humming like a big bee, they 
were both duly impressed when told that Betsy 
had set the table and made the apple sauce. 
They pronounced it very good apple sauce in- 
deed, and each sent his saucer back to the lit- 
tle girl for a second helping. She herself ate 
three saucerfuls. Her own private opinion 
was that it was the very best apple sauce ever 
made. 



124 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

After supper was over and the dishes washed 
and wiped, Betsy helping with the putting- 
away, the four gathered around the big lamp 
on the table with the red coven Cousin Ami 
was making some buttonholes in the shirt- 
waist she had constructed that afternoon, Aunt 
Abigail was darning socks, and Uncle Henry 
was mending a piece of harness. Shep lay on 
the couch and snored until he got so noisy 
they coxddn't stand it, and Cousin Ann poked 
him in the ribs and he woke up snorting and 
gurgling and looking around very sheepishly. 
Every time this happened it made Betsy laugh. 
She held Eleanor, who didn't snore at all, but 
made the prettiest little tea-kettle-singing 
purr deep in her throat, and opened and 
sheathed her needle-like claws in Betsy's 
dress. 

"Well, how'd you get on at schools asked 
Uncle Henry. 

"IVe got your desk,'* said Elizabeth Aim^ 
looking at him curiously, at his gray hair and 
wrinkled, weather-beaten face, and trying to 



CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 125 

think what he must have looked like when he 
was a little boy like Balph» 

^*Sot'^ said Uncle Henry, **Well, let me 
tell you that's a mighty good desk I Did you 
notice the deep groove in the top of itf 

Betsy nodded. She had wondered what that 
was used for. 

**Well, that was the lead-pencil desk in the 
old days. When they couldn't run down to the 
store to buy things, because there wasn't any 
store to run to, how do you suppose they got 
their lead-pencils!" 

Elizabeth Ann shook her head, incapable 
even of a guess. She had never thought before 
but that lead-pencils grew in glass show-cases 
in stores. 

^^Well, sir," said Unde Henry, ''I'll teU 
you. They took a piece off the lump of lead 
they made their bullets of, melted it over the 
fire in the hearth down at the schoolhouse till 
it would run like water, and poured it in that 
groove. When it cooled off, there was a long 
streak of solid lead, about as big as one of our 



126 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

lead-pendls nowadays. They'd break that up 
in shorter lengths, and there yon'd have your 
lead-pendlSy made while yon wait. Oh, I tell 
yon in the old days folks knew how to take 
care of themselves more than now.'' 

"Why, weren't there any stores!" asked 
Elizabeth Ann. She conld not imagine living 
without buying things at stores. 

"Where'd they get the things to put in a 
store in those days?" asked Uncle Henry, 
argumentatively. "Every single thing had to 
be lugged clear from Albany or from Con- 
necticut on horseback." 

"Why didn't they use wagons!" asked Eliza- 
beth Ann. 

"You can't run a wagon unless you've got 
a road to run it on, can youf" asked Uncle 
Henry. "It was a long, long time before they 
had any roads. It's an awful chore to make 
roads in a new country all woods and hills and 
swamps and rocks. You were lucky if there 
was a good path from your house to the next 
settlement." 



CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 12T 

**Now, Henry," said Axmt Abigail, **do stop 
going on about old times long enough to let 
Betsy answer the question yon asked her. You 
haven't given her a chance to say how she got 
on at school/' 

**Well, I'm awfully mixed up I" said Betsy, 
complainingly. **I don't know what I ami I'm 
second-grade arithmetic and third-grade spell- 
ing and seventh-grade reading and I don't 
know what in writing or composition. We 
didn't have those." 

Nobody seemed to think this very remark- 
able, or even very interesting. Uncle Henry, 
indeed, noted it only to say, *' Seventh-grade 
reading!" He turned to Aunt Abigail. **0h. 
Mother, don't you suppose she could read 
aloud to us evenings t" 

Aunt Abigail and Cousin Ann both laid 
down their sewing to laugh I * * Yes, yes. Father, 
and play checkers with you too, like as not I" 
They explained to Betsy: **Your Uncle Henry 
is just daft on being read aloud to when he's 
got something to do in the evening, and when 



129 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

he hasn't he's as fidgety as a broody hen if he 
can't play checkers. Ann hates checkers and 
I haven't got the time, often." 

**0h, I love to play checkers!" said Betsy. 

**Well, now . . k" said Uncle Henry, rising 
instantly and dropping his half -mended har- 
ness on the table. ** Let's have a game." 

**0h, Father!" said Cousin Ann, in the tone 
she used for Shep. **How about that piece of 
breeching! You know that's not safe. Why 
don't you finish that up first f" 

Uncle Henry sat down again, looking as 
Shep did when Cousin Ann told him to get up 
on the couch, and took up his needle and awl. 

**But I could read something aloud," said 
Betsy, feeling very sorry for him. "At least 
I think I could. I never did, except at school." 

** What shall we have, Mother!" asked Uncle 
Henry eagerly. 

"Oh, I don't know. What have we got in 
this bookcase?" said Aunt Abigail. "It's 
pretty cold to go into the parlor to the other 
one." She leaned forward, ran her fat fore- 



CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 129 

finger over the worn old volumes, and took 
out a battered, blue-covered book, ** Scott f 

**Gosh, yes!*' said Uncle Henry, his eyes 
shining. **The staggit eve I'' 

At least that was the way it sounded to 
Betsy, but when she took the book and looked 
where Aunt Abigail pointed she read it cor- 
rectly, though in a timid, uncertain voice. She 
was very proud to think she could please a 
grown-up so much as she was evidently pleas-- 
ing Uncle Henry, but the idea of reading aloud 
for people to hear, not for a teacher to correct, 
was unheard-of. 

The Stag at eve had drunk his £01 
Where danced the moon on Monan's rill, 

she began, and it was as though she had 
stepped into a boat and was swept off by a 
strong current. She did not know what all the 
words meant, and she could not pronounce a 
good many of the names, but nobody inter- 
rupted to correct her, and she read on and on, 
steadied by the strongly-marked rhythm, drawn 



180 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

forward swiftly from one clangmg, sonorous 
rhyme to another. Uncle Henry nodded his 
head in time to the rise and fall of her voice 
and now and then stopped his work to look 
at her with bright, eager, old eyes. He knew 
some of the places by heart evidently, for 
once in a while his voice would join the little 
girPs for a couplet or two. They chanted to- 
gether thus : 

A moment listened to the cry 
That thickened as the chase drew nigh. 
Then, as the headmost foes appeared, 
With one brave bound, the copse he cleared. 

At the last line Uncle Henry flung his arm 
out wide, and the child felt as though the deer 
had made his great leap there, before her eyes. 

**IVe seen 'em jump just like that,'* broke in 
Uncle Henry. "A two-three-hundred-pound 
stag go up over a four-foot fence just like a 
piece of thistledown in the wind/* 

**Uncle Henry," asked Elizabeth Ann, **what 
is a copsef 



CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 131 

**I don't know,*' said Uncle Henry indiffer- 
ently. * * Something in the woods, must be. Un- 
derbrush most likely. You can always tell 
words you don't know by the sense of the whole 
thing. Go on.*' 

And stretching forward, free and far, 

The child's voice took up the chant again. She 
read faster and faster as it got more exciting. 
Unde Henry joined in on 

For, jaded now and spent with toU, 
Embossed with foam and dark with soil. 
While every gasp with sobs he drew, 
The laboring stag strained full in view.- 

The little girPs heart beat fast. She fled 
along through the next lines, stumbling des- 
perately over the hard words but seeing the 
headlong chase through them clearly as through 
tree-trunks in a forest. Uncle Henry broke in 
in a triumphant shout : 

The wily quarry shunned the shock 
And turned him from the opposing rock ; 



182 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

Then dashing down a darksome glen, 
Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken. 
In the deep Trossach's wildest nook 
His solitary refuge took. 

**0h my/'' cried Elizabeth Ann, laying down 
the book. **He got away, didn't het I was 
so afraid he wouldn't!'' 

**I can just hear those dogs yelping, can't 
yout" said Uncle Henry. 

YeUed on the view the opening pack. 

** Sometimes you hear 'em that way up on 
the slope of Hemlock Mountain back of us, 
when they get to running a deer." 

'*What say we have some pop-corn!'* sug- 
gested Aunt AbigaiL ** Betsy, don't you want 
to pop us some!" 

**I never did/^ said the little girl, but^in a 
less doubtful tone than she had ever used with 
that phrase so familiar to her. A dim notion 
was growing up in her mind that the fact that 
she had never done a thing was no proof that 
she couldn'tt 



CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 183 

**I^11 show you/' gaid Uncle Henry. He 
reached down a couple of ears from a big yel- 
low cluster hanging on the wall^ and he and 
Betsy shelled them into the popper, popped it 
full of snowy kernels, buttered it, salted it, 
and took it back to the table. 

It was just as she was eating her first am- 
brosial mouthful that the door opened and a 
fur-capped head was thrust in, A man's voice 
said: **Evenin', folks. No, I can't stay. I 
was down at the village just now, and thought 
I 'd ask for any mail down our way. ' ' He tossed 
a newspaper and a letter on the table and was 
gone. 

The letter was addressed to Elizabeth Ann 
and it was from Aunt Frances. She read it to 
herself while Uncle Henry read the newspaper. 
Aunt Frances wrote that she had been per- 
fectly horrified to learn that Cousin Molly had 
not kept Elizabeth Ann with her, and that she 
would never forgive her for that cruelty. And 
when she thought that her darling was at Put- 
ney Farm . • . I Her blood ran cold. It 



*N... .• ^^ 



184 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

positively didl It was too dreadful. But it 
couldn^t be helped, for a time anyhow, because 
Aunt Harriet was really very sick. Elizabeth 
Ann would have to be a dear, brave child and 
endure it as best she could. And as soon . . . 
oh, as soon as ever she could, Aunt Frances 
would come and take her away from them. 
**Don*t cry <oo much, darling ... it breaks 
my heart to think of you there! Try to 
be cheerful, dearest! Try to bear it for 
the sake of your distracted, loving Aunt 
Frances.'^ 

Elizabeth Ann looked up from this letter 
and across the table at Aunt Abigail's rosy, 
wrinkled old face, bent over her darning. 
Uncle Henry laid the paper down, took a big 
mouthful of pop-corn, and beat time silently 
with his hand. When he could speak he mur- 
mured : 

An himdred dogs bayed deep and strong, 
Clattered an hundred steeds along. 

Old Shep woke up with a snort and Aunt 



CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 135 

Abigail fed him a handful of pop-^om. Little 
Eleanor stirred in her sleep, stretched, yawned, 
and nestled down into a ball again on the little 
girPs lap. Betsy could feel in her own body 
the rhythmic vibration of the kitten's contented 
purr. 

Aunt Abigail looked up: ** Finished your 
letter! I hope Harriet is no worse. What 
does Frances say! ^' 

Elizabeth Ann blushed a deep red and 
crushed the letter together in her hand. She 
felt ashamed and she did not know why. **Aunt 
Frances says, . . . Aunt Frances says, . ♦ .'' 
she began, hesitating. **She says Aunt Har- 
riet is still pretty sick.'' She stopped, drew a 
long breath, and went on, **And she sends her 
love to you." 

Now Aunt Frances hadn't done anything of 
the kind, so this was a really whopping fib. 
But Elizabeth Ann didn't care if it was. It 
made her feel less ashamed, though she did not 
know why. She took another mouthful of 
pop-corn and stroked Eleanor's back. 



186 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

Uncle Henry got up and stretchea* **It's 
time to go to bed, folks/' he said. As he 
wound the olock Betsy heard him murmuring: 

' But when the mm his beacon ted* • » n ' 



CHAPTER Vn 

ELIZABETH ANN PAttS IN AN 
EXAMINATION 

I woin)EB if you can guess the name of a 
little girl who, about a month after this, was 
walking along through the melting snow in the 
woods with a big black dog running circles 
around her. Yes, all alone in the woods with a 
terrible great dog beside her, and yet not a bit 
afraid. You don't suppose it could be Eliza- 
beth Ann! Well, whoever she was, she had 
something on her mind, for she walked more 
and more slowly and had only a very absent- 
minded pat for the dog's head when he thrust 
it up for a caress. When the wood road led 
into a clearing in which there was a rough lit- 
tle house of slabs, the child stopped altogether, 
and, looking down, began nervously to j3raw 
lines in the snow with her overshoe* 

187 



138 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

You see, something perfectly dreadful had 
happened in school that day. The Superin- 
tendent, the all-important, seldom-seen Superin- 
tendent, came to visit the school and the chil- 
dren were given some examinations so he 
could see how they were getting on. 

Now, you know what an examination did to 
Elizabeth Ann. Or haven't I told you yet? 

Well, if I haven't, it's because words fail 
me. If there is anything horrid that an ex- 
amination e2i(2n't do to Elizabeth Ann, I have 
yet to hear of it. It began years ago, before 
ever she went to school, when she heard Aunt 
Frances talking about how she had dreaded ex- 
aminations when she was a child, and how they 
dried up her mouth and made her ears ring 
and her head ache and her knees get all weak 
and her mind a perfect blank, so that she 
didn't know what two and two made. Of 
course Elizabeth Ann didn't feel all those 
things right off at her first examination, but by 
the time she had had several and had rushed 
to tell Aunt Frances about how awful they 



ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 189 

were and the two of them had sympathized 
with one another and compared symptoms and 
then wept about her resulting low marks, why, 
she not only had all the symptoms Aunt Fran- 
ces had ever had, but a good many more of her 
own invention. 

Well, she had had them all and had them 
hard this afternoon, when the Superintendent 
was there. Her mouth had gone dry and her 
knees had shaken and her elbows had felt as 
though they had no more bones in them than 
so much jelly, and her eyes had smarted, and 
oh, what answers she had made I That dread- 
ful tight panic had clutched at her throat when- 
ever the Superintendent had looked at her, and 
she had disgraced herself ten times over. She 
went hot and cold to think of it, and felt quite 
sick with hurt vanity. She who did so well 
every day and was so much looked up to by 
her classmates, what must they be thinking of 
her I To tell the truth, she had been crying as 
she walked along through the woods, because 
she was so sorry for herself. Her eyes were 



140 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

all red still, and her throat sore from the big 
Inmp in it. 

And now she wonld live it all over again as 
she told the Putney cousins. For of conrse 
they must be told. She had always told Aunt 
Frances everything that happened in school. 
It happened that Aunt Abigail had been taking 
a nap when she got home from school, and so 
she had come out to the sap-house, where 
Cousin Ann and Uncle Henry were making 
syrup, to have it over with as soon as possible. 
She went up to the little slab house now, drag- 
ging her feet and hanging her head, and opened 
the door. 

Cousin Ann, in a very short old skirt and a 
man's coat and high rubber boots, was just 
poking some more wood into the big fire which 
blazed furiously under the broad, flat pan 
where the sap was boiling. The rough, brown 
hut was filled with white steam and that sweet- 
est of all odors, hot maple syrup. Cousin Ann 
turned her head, her face very red with the 
heat of the fire, and nodded at the child. 



ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 141 

'* Hello, Betsy, you^re just in time. IVe 
saved out a cupful of hot syrup for you, all 
ready to wax/* 

Betsy hardly heard this, although she had 
been wild about waxed sugar on snow ever 
since her very first taste of it. ** Cousin Ann,*' 
she said unhappily, **the Superintendent visited 
our school this afternoon.'* 

* ' Did he f said Cousin Ann, dipping a ther- 
mometer into the boiling syrup. 

*' Yes, and we had examinations 1' ' said Betsy. 

**Did you?'* said Cousin Ann, holding the 
thermometer up to the light and looking at it. 

**And you know how perfectly awful exami- 
nations make you feel,** said Betsy, very near 
to tears again. 

*^Why, no,** said Cousin Ann, sorting over 
syrup tins. *^They never made me feel awful. 
I thought they were sort of fun. * * 

^^Fun!^' cried Betsy, indignantly, staring 
through the beginnings of her tears. 

**Why, yes. Like taking a dare, don*t you 
know. Somebody stumps you to jump off the 



/ 



142 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

hitching-post, and you do it to show 'em. I al- 
ways used to think examinations were like that. 
Somebody stumps you to spell 'pneumonia/ 
and you do it to show 'em. Here 's your cup of 
syrup. You'd better go right out and wax it 
while it's hot." 

Elizabeth Ann automatically took the cup 
in her hand, but she did not look at it. ' ' But su])- 
posing you get so scared you can't spell 'pneu- 
monia' or anything else!" she said feelingly. 
"That's what happened to me. You know how 
your mouth gets all dry and your knees ..." 
She stopped. Cousin Ann had said she did not 
know all about those things. **Well, anyhow, I 
got so scared I could hardly stand up! And I 
made the most awful mistakes — ^things I know 
just as well I I spelled 'doubt' without any b 
and 'separate' with an e, and I said Iowa 
was bounded on the north by Wisconsin, and 
I " 

"Oh, well," said Cousin Ann, "it doesn't 
matter if you really know the right answers, 
does it? That's the important thing." 



ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 143 

This was an idea which had never in all her 
life entered Betsy's brain and she did not take 
it in at all now. She only shook her head mis- 
erably and went on in a doleful tone. *^And I 
said 13 and 8 are 22! and I wrote March without 
any capital M, and I . . . ' ' 

**Look here, Betsy, do you want to tell me 
all this ! ' ' Cousin Ann spoke in the quick, ring- 
ing voice she had once in a while which made 
everybody, from old Shep up, open his eyes and 
get his wits about him. Betsy gathered hers 
and thought hard; and she came to an unex- 
pected conclusion. No, she didn't really want 
to tell Cousin Ann all about it. Why was she 
doing it! Because she thought that was the 
thing to do. ** Because if you don't really want 
to," went on Cousin Ann, **I don't see that it's 
doing anybody any good. I guess Hemlock 
Mountain will stand right there just the 
same even if you did forget to put a b in 
'doubt.' And your syrup will be too cool to 
wax right if you don't take it out pretty 
soon." 



144 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

She turned back to stoke the fire, and Eliza- 
beth Ann, in a daze, found herself walking out 
of the door. It fell shut after her, and there 
she was under the clear, pale-blue sky, with the 
sun just hovering over the rim of Hemlock 
Mountain. She looked up at the big mountains, 
all blue and silver with shadows and snow, and 
wondered what in the world Cousin Ann had 
meant. Of course Hemlock Mountain would 
stand there just the same. But what of it? 
What did that have to do with her arithmetic, 
with anything? She had failed in her examina- 
tion, hadn't she? 

She found a clean white snow-bank under a 
pine-tree, and, setting her cup of syrup down in 
a safe place, began to pat the snow down hard 
to make the right bed for the waxing of the 
syrup. The sun, very hot for that late March 
day, brought out strongly the tarry perfume of 
the big pine-tree. Near her the sap dripped 
musically into a bucket, already half full, hung 
on a maple-tree. A blue-jay rushed suddenly 
through the upper branches of the wood, his 



ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 146 

screaming and chattering voice sounding like 
noisy children at play. 

Elizabeth Ann took up her cup and poured 
some of the thick, hot syrup out on the hard 
snow, making loops and curves as she poured. 
It stiffened and hardened at once, and she lifted 
up a great coil of it, threw her head back, and 
let it drop into her mouth. Concentrated sweet- 
ness of summer days was in that mouthful, part 
of it still hot and aromatic, part of it icy and 
wet with melting snow. She crunched it all 
together with her strong, child's teeth into a 
delicious, big lump and sucked on it dreamily, 
her eyes on the rim of Hemlock Mountain, high 
above her there, the snow on it bright golden 

in the sunlight. Uncle Henry had promised to 

« 

take her up to the top as soon as the snow 
went off. She wondered what the top of a 
mountain would be like. Uncle Henry had said 
the main thing was that you could see so much 
of the world at once. He said it was too queer 
the way your own house and big bam and great 
fields looked like little toy things that weren't 



146 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

of any account. It was because you could see 
so much more than just the . . . 

She heard an imploting whine, and a cold 
nose was thrust into her hand! Why, there 
was old Shep begging for his share of waxed 
sugar. He loved it, though it did stick to his 
teeth so ! She poured out another lot and gave 
half of it to Shep. It immediately stuck his 
jaws together tight, and he began pawing at his 
mouth and shaking his head till Betsy had to 
laugh. Then he managed to pull his jaws apart 
and chewed loudly and visibly, tossing his head, 
opening his mouth wide till Betsy could see the 
sticky, brown candy draped in melting festoons 
all over his big white teeth and red gullet. Then 
with a gulp he had swallowed it all down and 
was whining for more, striking softly at the lit- 
tle girl's skirt with his forepaw. '*0h, you eat 
it too fast!'* cried Betsy, but she shared her 
next lot with him too. The sun had gone down 
over Hemlock Mountain by this time, and the 
big slope above her was all deep blue shadow. 
The mountain looked much higher now as the 



ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 147 

dusk began to fall, and loomed up bigger and 
bigger as though it reached to the sky. It was 
no wonder houses looked small from its top. 
Betsy ate the last of her sugar, looking up at the 
quiet giant there, towering grandly above her. 
There was no lump in her throat now. And, 
although she still thought she did not know 
what in the world Cousin Ann meant by saying 
that about Hemlock Mountain and her exami- 
nation, it's my opinion that she had made a 
very good beginning of an understanding. 

She was just picking up her cup to take it 
back to the sap-house when Shep growled a 
little and stood with his ears and tail up, look- 
ing down the road. Something was coming 
down that road in the blue, clear twilight, some- 
thing that was making a very queer noise. It 
sounded almost like somebody crying. It was 
somebody crying! It was a child crying. It 
was a little, little girl. . . . Betsy could see her 
now . . . stumbling along and crjdng as though 
her heart would break. Why, it was little Molly, 
her own particular charge at school, whose 



148 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

reading lesson she heard every day. Betsy and 
Shep ran to meet her. ** What's the matter, 
Molly! What's the matter?'' Betsy knelt 
down and put her arms around the weeping 
child. **Did you fall down? Did you hurt 
you? What are you doing 'way off here? Did 
you lose your way?" 

**I don't want to go away! I don't want to 
go away!" said Molly over and over, clinging 
tightly to Betsy. It was a long time before 
Betsy could quiet her enough to find out what 
had happened. Then she made out between 
Molly's sobs that her mother had been taken 
suddenly sick and had to go away to a hos- 
pital, and that left nobody at home to take care 
of Molly, and she was to be sent away to some 
strange relatives in the city who didn't want 
her at all and who said so right out. . . . 

Oh, Elizabeth Ann knew all about that! and 
her heart swelled big with sympathy. For a 
moment she stood again out on the sidewalk in 
front of the Lathrop house with old Mrs. Lath- 
rop's ungracious white head bobbing from a 



"What's the matter, Mollyt What's the mattert" 



/ 



ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 149 

window, and knew again that ghastly feeling of 
being unwanted. Oh, she knew why little Molly 
was crying I And she shut her hands together 
hard and made up her mind that she wotUd 
help her out! 

Do you know what she did, right off, without 
thinking about it? She didn^t go and look up 
Aunt Abigail. She didn't wait till Uncle Henry 
came back from his round of emptying sap 
buckets into the big tub on his sled. As fast 
as her feet could carry her she flew back to 
Cousin Ann in the sap-house. I can't tell you 
(except again that Cousin Ann was Cousin 
Ann) why it was that Betsy ran so fast to her 
and was so sure that everything would be all 
right as soon as Cousin Ann knew about it; 
but whatever the reason was it was a good one, 
for, though Cousin Ann did not stop to kiss 
Molly or even to look at her more than one 
sharp first glance, she said after a moment's 
pause, during which she filled a syrup can and 
screwed the cover down very tight: ^^Well, if 
her folks will let her stay, how would you like 



160 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

to have Molly come and stay with us till her 
mother gets back from the hospital? Now 
you've got a room of your own, I gaess if you 
wanted to you could have her sleep with you/' 

**0h, Molly, Molly, MoUyr shouted Betsy, 
jumping up and down, and then hugging the 
little girl with all her might. **0h, it will be 
like having a little sister!'' 

Cousin Ann sounded a dry, warning note: 
** Don't be too sure her folks will let her. We 
don't know about them yet." 

Betsy ran to her, and caught her hand, look- 
ing up at her with shining eyes. ** Cousin Ann, 
if you go to see them and ask them, they will I" 

This made even Cousin Ann give a little 
abashed smile of pleasure, although she made 
her face grave again at once and said: ** You'd 
better go along back to the house now, Betsy. 
It's time for you to help Mother with the sup- 
per." 

The two children trotted back along the dark- 
ening wood road, Shep running before them, 
little Molly clinging fast to the older child's 



ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 161 

i 

hand. ** Aren't you ever afraid, Betsy, in the 
woods this wayf she asked admiringly, look- 
ing about her with timid eyes. 

**0h, no!*' said Betsy, protectingly ; ** there's 
nothing to be afraid of, except getting off on 
the wrong fork of the road, near the Wolf Pit." 

**0h, owl'' said Molly, scringing. ** What's 
the Wolf Pit? What an awful name 1" 

Betsy laughed. She tried to make her laugh 
sound brave like Cousin Ann's, which always 
seemed so scornful of being afraid. As a mat- 
ter of fact, she was beginning to fear that they 
had made the wrong turn, and she was not quite 
sure that she could find the way home. But she 
put this out of her mind and walked along very 
fast, peering ahead into the dusk. **0h, it 
hasn't anything to do with wolves," she said 
in answer to Molly's question; ** anyhow, not 
now. It's just a big, deep hole in the ground 
where a brook had dug out a cave. . . . Uncle 
Henry told me all about it when he showed it to 
me . . . and then part of the roof caved in; 
sometimes there's ice in the comer of the cov- 



162 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

ered part all the summer, Aunt Abigail 
says. * * 

**Why do you call it the Wolf Pit?'' asked 
Molly, walking very close to Betsy and holding 
very tightly to her hand, 

**0h, long, ever so long ago, when the first 
settlers came up here, they heard a wolf howl- 
ing all night, and when it didn't stop in the 
morning, they came up here on the mountain 
and found a wolf had fallen in and couldn't get 
out." 

**Myl I hope they killed him!" said Molly. 

**0h, gracious! that was more than a hun- 
dred years ago," said Betsy. She was not 
thinking of what she was saying. She was 
thinking that if they were on the right road 
they ought to be home by this time. She was 
thinking that the right road ran down hill to 
the house all the way, and that this certainly 
seemed to be going up a little. She was won- 
dering what had become of Shep. * * Stand here 
just a minute, Molly," she said. **I want . . . 
I just want to go ahead a little bit and see . . • 



ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 163 

and see . . . ' ' She darted on around a curve of 
the road and stood still, her heart sinking. The 
road turned there and led straight up the moun- 
tain! 

For just a moment the little girl felt a wild 
impulse to burst out in a shriek for Aunt 
Frances, and to run crazily away, anywhere so 
long as she was running. But the thought of 
Molly standing back there, trustfully waiting 
to be taken care of, shut Betsy's lips together 
hard before her scream of fright got out. She 
stood still, thinking. Now she mustn't get 
frightened. All they had to do was to walk 
back along the rojad till they came to the fork 
and then make the right turn. But what if 
they didn't get back to the turn till it was so 
dark they couldn't see it . . .? "Well, she 
mustn't think of that. She ran back, calling, 
**Come on, Molly," in a tone she tried to make 
as firm as Cousin Ann's. **I guess we have 
made the wrong turn after all. We'd bet- 
ter .. ." 

But there was no Molly there. In the 



164 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

brief moment Betsy had stood thinking, Molly 
had disappeared. The long, shadowy wood 
road held not a trace of her. 

Then Betsy was frightened and then she did 
begin to scream, at the top of her voice, *' Molly I 
Molly!*' She was beside herself with terror, 
and started back hastily to hear Molly's voice, 
very faint, apparently coming from the ground 
nnder her feet. 

**OwI Owl Betsy! Get me out! Get me 
out!'' 

** Where are you!" shrieked Betsy. 

**I don't know!" came Molly's sobbing voice. 
**I just moved the least little bit out of the 
road, and slipped on the ice and began to slide 
and I couldn't stop myself and I fell down into 
a deep hole!" 

Betsy's head felt as though her hair were 
standing up straight on end with horror. 
Molly must have fallen down into the Wolf Pit ! 
Yes, they were quite near it. She remembered 
now that big white-birch tree stood right at 
the place where the brook tumbled over the 



ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 166 

edge and fell into it. Although she was dread- 
fully afraid of falling in herself, she went can- 
tiously over to this tree, feeling her way with 
her foot to make sure she did not slip, and 
peered down into the cavernous gloom below. 
Yes, there was Molly *s little face, just a white 
speck. The child was crying, sobbing, and hold- 
ing up her arms to Betsy. 

**Are you hurt, Molly!** 

**No. I fell into a big snow-bank, but I*m 
all wet and frozen and I want to get outl I 
want to get out I * * 

Betsy held on to the birch-tree. Her head 
whirled. What should she do I **Look here, 
Molly,** she called down, **I*m going to run 
back 'along to the right road and back to 
the house and get Uncle Henry. He*ll come 
with a rope and get you out!** 

At this Molly *s crying rose to a frantic 
scream. ^*0h, Betsy, don*t leave me here 
alone! Don*t! Don't! The wolves will get me! 
Betsy, donH leave me alone!** The child was 
wild with terror. 



0A I 



166 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

**But I can't get you out myself 1'' screamed 
back Betsy, crying herself. Her teeth were 
chattering with the cold. 

** Don't go! Don't go!*' came up from the 
darkness of the pit in a piteous howl. Betsy 
made a great effort and stopped crying. She 
sat down on a stone and tried to think. And 
this is what came into her mind as a guide: 
**What would Cousin Ann do if she were here! 
She wouldn't cry. She would think of some- 
thing." 

Betsy looked around her desperately. The 
first thing she saw was the big limb of a pine- 
tree, broken off by the wind, which half lay and 
half slantingly stood up against a tree a little 
distance above the mouth of the pit. It had 
been there so long that the needles had all dried 
and fallen off, and the skeleton of the branch 
with the broken stubs looked like . . . yes, it 
looked like a ladder! That was what Cousin 
Ann would have done ! 

**Wait a minute! Wait a minute, Molly!" 
she called wildly down the pit, warm all over in 



ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 167 

excitement. "Now listen. You go off there in 
a comer, where the ground makes a sort of 
roof. I'm going to throw down something you 
can climb up on, maybe. *' 

"Owl Ow, itai hit me!'' cried poor Uttle 
Molly, more and more frightened. But she 
scrambled off under her shelter obediently, 
while Betsy struggled with the branch. It was 
so firmly imbedded in the snow that at first she 
could not budge it at all. But after she cleared 
that away and pried hard with the stick she was 
using as a lever she felt it give a little. She 
bore down with all her might, throwing her 
weight again and again on her lever, and finally 
felt the big branch perceptibly move. After that 
it was easier, as its course was down hill over 
the snow to the mouth of the pit. Glowing, and 
pushing, wet with perspiration, she slowly 
maneuvered it along to the edge, turned it 
squarely, gave it a great shove, and leaned over 
anxiously. Then she gave a great sigh of re- 
lief I Just as she had hoped, it went down 
sharp end first and stuck fast in the snow 



168 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

which had saved Molly from broken bones. She 
was so out of breath with her work that for a 
moment she could not speak. Then, '^ Molly, 
there I Now I guess you can climb up to where 
I can reach you.'* 

Molly made a rush for any way out of her 
prison, and climbed, like the little practised 
squirrel that she was, up from one stub to an- 
other to the top of the branch. She was still 
below the edge of the pit there, but Betsy lay 
flat down on the snow and held out her hands. 
Molly took hold hard, and, digging her toes into 
the snow, slowly wormed her way up to the 
surface of the ground. 

It was then, at that very moment, that Shep 
came bounding up to them, barking loudly, and 
after him Cousin Ann striding along in her 
rubber boots, with a lantern in her hand and a 
rather anxious look on her face. 

She stopped short and looked at the two little 
girls, covered with snow, their faces flaming 
with excitement, and at the black hole gaping 
behind them. **I always told Father we ought 



ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 169 

to put a fence around that pit/* she said in a 
matter-of-fact voice. **Some day a sheep's 
going to fall down there. Shep came along to 
the house without you, and we thought most 
likely you'd taken the wrong turn.'' 

Betsy felt terribly aggrieved. She wanted 
to be petted and praised for her heroism. She 
wanted Cousin Ann to realise . . . oh, if Aunt 
Frances were only there, she would realize ... I 

*^I fell down in the hole, and Betsy wanted to 
go and get Mr. Putney, but I wouldn't let her, 
and so she threw down a big branch and I 
climbed out," explained Molly, who, now that 
her danger was past, took Betsy's action quite 
as a matter of course. 

**0h, that was how it happened," said Cousin 
Ann. She looked down the hole and saw the big 
branch, and looked back and saw the long trail 
of crushed snow where Betsy had dragged it. 
**Well, now, that was quite a good idea for a 
little girl to have," she said briefly. **I guess 
you'll do to take care of Molly all right!" 

She spoke in her usual voice and immediately 



160 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

drew the children after her, but Betsy *s heart 
was singing joyfully as she trotted along clasp- 
ing Cousin Ann's strong hand. Now she knew 
that Cousin Ann realized. . . . She trotted 
fast, smiling to herself in the darkness. 

**What made you think of doing thatf asked 
Cousin Ann presently, as they approached the 
house. 

**Why, I tried to think what you would have 
done if you 'd been there, ' ' said Betsy. 

*^OhI'' said Cousin Ann. ^^Well . . .'' 

She didn't say another word, but Betsy, 
glancing up into her face as they stepped into 
the lighted room, saw an expression that made 
her give a little skip and hop of joy. She had 
pleased Cousin Ann. 

That night, as she lay in her bed, her arm 
over Molly cuddled up warm beside her, she 
remembered, oh, ever so faintly, as something 
of no importance, that she had failed in an 
examination that afternoon. 



CHAPTER Vin 

BETSY STARTS A SEWING SOCIETY 

Betsy and Molly had taken Deborah to school 
with them. Deborah was the old wooden doll 
with brown, painted curls. She had lain in a 
trunk almost ever since Aunt Abigail's child- 
hood, because Cousin Ann had never cared for 
dolls when she was a little girl. At first Betsy 
had not dared to ask to see her, much less to 
play with her, but when Ellen, as she had prom- 
ised, came over to Putney Farm that first 
Saturday she had said right out, as soon as she 
landed in the house, **0h, Mrs. Putney, can't we 
play with Deborah T' And Aunt Abigail had 
answered: **Why yes, of course! I knew there 
was something IVe kept forgetting 1 ' ' She 
went up with them herself to the cold attic and 
opened the little hair-trunk under the eaves. 

161 



162 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

There lay a doll, flat on her back, looking up 
at them brightly out of her blue eyes. 

**Well, Debby dear/' said Aunt Abigail, tak- 
ing her up gently. **It's a good long time since 
you and I played under the lilac bushes, isn't 
it? I expect youVe been pretty lonesome up 
here all these years. Never you mind, you'll 
have some good times again, now." She pulled 
down the doll's full, ruffled skirt, straightened 
the lace at the neck of her dress, and held her 
for a moment, looking down at her silently. 
You could tell by the way she spoke, by the way 
she touched Deborah, by the way she looked at 
her, that she had loved the doll very dearly, 
and maybe still did, a little. 

When she put Deborah into Betsy's arms, the 
' child felt that she was receiving something very 
precious, almost something alive. She and 
Ellen looked with delight at the yards and yards 
of picot-edged ribbon, sewed on by hand to the 
ruffles of the skirt, and lifted up the silk folds 
to admire the carefully made, full petticoats 
( and frilly drawers, the pretty, soft old kid 



Betsy and Ellen and tlie old doll. 



A SEWING SOCIETY 168 

shoes and white stockings. Aunt Abigail looked 
at them with an absent smile on her lips, as 
though she were living over old scenes. 

Finally, **It's too cold to play up here,'' she 
said, coming to herself with a long breath. 
**You^d better bring Deborah and the trunk 
down into the south room.'' She carried the 
doll, and Betsy and Ellen each took an end of 
the old trunk, no larger than a modem suit- 
case. They settled themselves on the big couch, 
back of the table with the lamp. Old Shep was 
on it, but Betsy coaxed him off by putting down 
some bones Cousin Ann had been saving for 
him. When he finished those and came back for 
the rest of his snooze, he found his place occu- 
pied by the little girls, sitting cross-legged, ex- 
amining the contents of the trunk, all spread 
out around them. Shep sighed deeply and sat 
down with his nose resting on the couch near 
Betsy's knee, following all their movements 
with his kind, dark eyes. Once in a while Betsy 
stopped hugging Deborah or exclaiming over a 
new dress long enough to pat Shep's head and 



164 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

fondle his ears. This was what he was waiting 
for, and every time she did it he wagged his 
tail thumpingly against the floor. 

After that Deborah and her trunk were kept 
downstairs where Betsy could play with her. 
And often she was taken to school. You never 
heard of such a thing as taking a doll to school, 
did you! Well, I told you this was a queer, old- 
fashioned school that any modem School Su- 
perintendent would sniff at. As a matter of 
fact, it was not only Betsy who took her doll to 
school ; all 'the little girls did, whenever they 
felt like it. Miss Benton, the teacher, had a 
shelf for them in the entry-way where the wraps 
were hung, and the dolls sat on it and waited 
patiently all through lessons. At recess time 
or nooning each little mother snatched her own 
child and began to play. As soon as it grew 
warm enough to play outdoors without just 
racing around every minute to keep from freez- 
ing to death, the dolls and their mothers went 
out to a great pile of rocks at one end of the 
bare, stony field which was the playground. 



A SEWING SOCIETY 166 

Thei^e they sat and played in the spring sun- 
shine, warmer from day to day. There were 
a great many holes and shelves and pockets and 
little caves in the rocks which made lovely places 
for playing keep-house. Each little girl had 
her own particular cubby-holes and ** rooms/* 
and they ** visited** their dolls back and forth 
all around the pile. And as they played they 
talked very fast about all sorts of things, being 
little girls and not boys who just yelled and 
hoMed inarticulately as they played ball or 
duck-on-a-rock or prisoner's goal, racing and 
running and wrestling noisily all around the 
rocks. 

There was one child who neither played with 
the girls nor ran and whooped with the boys. 
This was little six-year-old *Lias, one of the 
two boys in Molly's first grade. At recess time 
he generally hung about the school door by 
himself, looking moodily down and knocking 
the toe of his ragged, muddy shoe against a 
stone. The little girls were talking about him 
one day as they played. * * My ! Isn *t that 'Lias 



166 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

Brewster the horridest-looking child I" 'said 
Eliza, who had the second grade all to herself , 
although Molly now read out of the second 
reader with her. 

** Mercy, yes! So ragged!'* said Anastasia 
Monahan, called Stashie for short. She was a 
big girl, fourteen years old, who was in the 
seventh grade. 

**He doesn't look as if he ever combed his 
hair ! ' ' said Betsy. * * It looks just like a wisp of 
old hay.'' 

** And sometimes," little Molly proudly added 
her bit to the talk of the older girls, **he for- 
gets to put on any stockings and just has his 
dreadful old shoes on over his dirty, bare 
feet." 

"I guess he hasn't got any stockings half the 
time," said big Stashie scornfully. **I guess 
his stepfather drinks 'em up." 

**How can he drink up stockings t" asked 
Molly, opening her round eyes very wide. 

"Sh! You mustn't ask. Little girls shouldn't 
know about such things, should they, Betsy?" 



A SEWING SOCIETY 167 

**No indeed/' said Betsy, looking mysterious. 
As a matter of fact, she herself had no idea 
what Stashie meant, but she looked wise and 
said nothing. 

Some of the boys had squatted down near 
the rocks for a game of marbles now. 

**Well, anyhow, '^ said Molly resentfully, **I 
don't care what his stepfather does to his stock- 
ings. I wish 'Lias would wear 'em to school. 
And lots of times he hasn't anything on under 
those horrid old overalls either ! I can see his 
bare skin through the torn places." 

**I wish he didn't have to sit so near 
me," said Betsy complainingly. **H!e's so 
dirty." 

**Well, I don't want him near me, either I" 
cried all the other little girls at once. Balph 
glanced up at them frowning, from where he 
knelt with his middle finger crooked behind 
a marble ready for a shot. He looked as he 
always did, very rough and half -threatening. 
**0h, you girls make me sick!" he said. He 
sent his marble straight to the mark, pocketed 



168 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

his opponent's, and stood up, scowling at the 
little mothers. ^'I gaess if yon had to live 
the way he does yon'd be dirty! Half the 
time he don't get anything to eat before he 
comes to school, and if my mother didn't pnt 
np some extra for him in my box he wouldn't 
get any lunch either. And then you go and 
jump on him!" 

**Why doesn't his own mother put up his 
lunch t" Betsy challenged their critic. 

**He hasn't got any mother. She's dead," 
said Ralph, turning away with his hands in his 
pockets. He yelled to the boys, * * Come on, fel- 
lers, beat-che to the bridge and back!" and was 
off, with the others racing at his heels. 

**Well, anyhow, I don't care; he is dirty and 
horrid!" said Stashie emphatically, looking 
over at the drooping, battered little figure, lean- 
ing against the school door, listlessly kicking at 
a stone. 

But Betsy did not say anything more just 
then. 

The teacher, who ** boarded 'round," was 



A SEWING SOCIETY 169 

staying at Putney Farm at that time, and that 
evening^ as they all sat around the lamp in the 
south room, Betsy looked up from her game of 
checkers with Uncle Henry and asked, **How 
can anybody drink up stockings! '* 

** Mercy, child! what are you talking about f 
asked Aunt Abigail. 

Betsy repeated what Anastasia Monahan had 
said, and was flattered by the instant, rather 
startled attention given her by the grown-ups. 
**Why, I didn't know that Bud Walker had 
taken to drinking again!'* said Uncle Henry. 
**My! That's too bad!" 

**Who takes care of that child anyhow, now 
that poor Susie is deadf " Aunt Abigail asked 
of everybody in general. 

**Is he just living there alone, with that good- 
for-nothing stepfather! How do they get 
enough to eatf'^ said Cousin Ann^ looking 
troubled. 

Apparently Betsy's question had brought 
something half forgotten and altogether neg- 
lected into their minds. They talked for some 



170 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

time after that abont 'Lias, the teacher confirm- 
ing what Betsy and Stashie had said. 

**And we sitting right here with plenty to 
eat and never raising a handl*' cried Aunt Abi- 
gail. 

**How you tvill let things slip out of your 
mindl'' said Cousin Ann remorsefully. 

It struck Betsy vividly that 'Lias was not 
at all the one they blamed for his objectionable 
appearance. She felt quite ashamed to go on 
with the other things she and the little girls 
had said, and fell silent, pretending to be very 
much absorbed in her game of checkers. 

**Do you know,'' said Aunt Abigail sud- 
denly, as though an inspiration had just struck 
her, **I wouldn't be a bit surprised if that El- 
more Pond might adopt 'Lias if he was gone at 
the right way." 

*^ Who's Elmore Pond!" asked the school- 
teacher. 

"Why, you must have seen him — ^that great, 
big, red-faced, good-natured-looking man that 
comes through here twice a year, buying stock. 



A SEWING SOCIETY 171 

He lives over Digby way, but his wife was a 
Hillsboro girl, Matey Pelham — an awfully nice 
girl she was, too. They never had any children, 
and Matey told me the last time she was back 
for a visit that she and her husband talked quite 
often about adopting a little boy. Seems that 
Mr. Pond has always wanted a little boy. He 's 
such a nice man ! 'Twould be a lovely home for 
a child. *' 

* [ But goodness ! ' ' said the teacher. * * Nobody 
would want to adopt such an awful-looking lit- 
tle ragamuffin as that 'Lias. He looks so 
meeching, too. I guess his stepfather is real 
mean to him, when he's been drinking, and it's 
got 'Lias so he hardly dares hold his head up. ' ' 

The clock struck loudly. *'Well, hear that!" 
said Cousin Ann. **Nine o'clock and the chil- 
dren not in bed! Molly's most asleep this 
minute. Trot along with you, Betsy! Trot 
along, Molly. And, Betsy, be sure Molly's night- 
gown is buttoned up all the way." 

So it happened that, although the grown-ups 
were evidently going on to talk about 'Lias 



172 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

Brewster, Betsy heard no more of what they 
said. 

She herself went on thinking about 'lias 
while she was undressing and answering ab- 
sently little Molly's chatter. She was thinking 
about him even after they had gone to bed, 
had put the light out, and were lying snuggled 
up to each other, back to front, their four legs, 
crooked at the same angle, fitting in together 
neatly like two spoons in a drawer. She was 
thinking abont him ^en she woke up, and as 
soon as she could get hold of Cousin Ann she 
poured out a new plan. She had never been 
afraid of Cousin Ann since the evening Molly 
had fallen into the Wolf Pit and Betsy had seen 
that pleased smile on Cousin Ann's firm lips. 
** Cousin Ann, couldn't we girls at school get 
together and sew— you'd have to help us some — 
and make some nice, new clothes for little 'Lias 
Brewster, and fix him up so he'll look better, and 
maybe that Mr. Pond will like him and adopt 
him?" 

Cousin Ann listened attentively and nodded 



A SEWING SOCIETY 178 

her head. "Yes, I think that would be a good 
idea,'* she said, **We were thinking last night 
we ought to do something for him. If you'll 
make the clothes, Mother '11 knit him some stock- 
ings and Father will get him some shoes. Mr. 
Pond never makes his spring trip till late May, 
80 we'll have plenty of time.'* 

Betsy was full of importance that day at 
school and at recess time got the girls together 
on the rocks and told them all about the plan. 
"Cousin Ann says she'll help us, and we can 
meet at our house every Saturday afternoon till 
we get them done. It '11 be fun ! Aunt Abigail 
telephoned down to the store right away, and 
Mr. Wilkins says he'll give the cloth if we'll 
make it up." 

Betsy spoke very grandly of "making it up," 
although she had hardly held a needle in her 
life, and when the Saturday afternoon meet- 
ings began she was ashamed to see how much 
better Ellen and even Eliza could sew than she. 
To keep her end up, she was driven to practis- 
ing her stitches around the lamp in the eve- 



174 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

nings, with Aunt Abigail keeping an eye on 
her. 

Cousin Ann supervised the sewing on Satur- 
day afternoons and taught those of the little 
girls whose legs were long enough how to use 
the sewing machine. First they made a little 
pair of trousers out of an old gray woolen skirt 
of Aunt AbigaiPs. This was for practice, be- 
fore they cut into the piece of new blue serge 
that the storekeeper had sent up. Cousin Ann 
showed them how to pin the pattern on the 
goods and they each cut out one piece. Those 
flat, queer-shaped pieces of cloth certainly did 
look less like a pair of trousers to Betsy than 
anything she had ever seen. Then one of the 
girls read aloud very slowly the mysterious- 
sounding directions from the wrapper of the 
pattern about how to put the pieces together. 
Cousin Ann helped here a little, particularly 
just as they were about to put the sections to- 
gether wrong-side-up. Stashie, as the oldest, 
did the first basting, putting the notches to- 
gether carefully, just as they read the instruc- 



A SEWING SOCIETY 176 

tions aloud, and there, all of a sudden, was a 
rough little sketch of a pair of knee trousers, 
without any hem or any waist-band, of course, 
but just the two-legged, complicated shape they 
ought to be! It was like a miracle to Betsy! 
Then Cousin Ann helped them sew the seams 
on the machine, and they all turned to for the 
basting of the facings and the finishing. They 
each made one buttonhole. It was the first one 
Betsy had ever made, and when she got through 
she was as tired as though she had run all the 
way to school and back. Tired, but very proud ; 
although when Cousin Ann inspected that but- 
tonhole, she covered her face with her handker- 
chief for a minute, as though she were going to 
sneeze, although she didn't sneeze at all. 

It took them two Saturdays to finish up that 
trial pair of trousers, and when they showed 
the result to Aunt Abigail she was delighted. 
**WeIl, to think of that being my old skirt!*' 
she said, putting on her spectacles to examine 
the work. She did not laugh, either, when she 
saw those buttonholes, but she got up hastily 



176 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

and went into the next room, where they soon 
heard her coughing. 

Then they made a little blouse out of some 
new blue gingham. Cousin Ann happened to 
have enough left over from a dress she was 
making. This thin material was ever so much 
easier to manage than the gray flannel, and they 
had the little garment done in no time, even to 
the buttons and buttonholes. When it came to 
making the buttonholes. Cousin Ann sat right 
down with each one and supervised every stitch. 
You may not be surprised to know that they 
were a great improvement over the first batch. 

Then, making a great ceremony of it, they 
began on the store material, working twice a 
week now, because May was slipping along very 
fast, and Mr. Pond might be there at any time. 
They knew pretty well how to go ahead on this 
one, after the experience of their first pair, and 
Cousin Ann was not much needed, except as ad- 
viser in hard places. She sat there in the room 
with them, doing some sewing of her own, so 
quiet that half the time they forgot she was 



A SEWING SOCIETY 177 

there. It was great fun, sewing all together 
and chattering as they sewed. 

A good deal of the time they talked about 
how splendid it was of them to be so kind to 
little ^Lias. **MyI I don't believe most girls 
would put themselves out this way for a dirty 
little boyl'^ said Stashie, complacently. 

**No indeed/' ' chimed in Betsy. **It's just 
like a story, isn't it!-working and sacrificing 
for the poor!'* 

**I guess he'll thank us all right for surel'^ 
said Ellen. **He'll never forget us as long as 
he lives, I don't suppose. '' 

Betsy, her imagination fired by this sugges- 
tion, said, '*! guess when he's grown up he'll 
be telling everybody about how, when he was so 
poor and ragged, Stashie Monahan and Ellen 
Peters and Elizabeth Ann ..." 

'*And Eliza I" put in that little girl hastily, 
very much afraid she would not be given her 
due share of the glory. 

Cousin Ann sewed, and listened, and said 
nothing. 



178 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

Toward the end of May two little blouses, 
two pairs of trousers, two pairs of stockings, 
two sets of underwear (contributed by the 
teacher), and the pair of shoes Uncle Henry 
gave were ready. The little girls handled the 
pile of new garments with inexpressible pride, 
and debated just which way of bestowing them 
was sufficiently grand to be worthy the occa- 
sion. Betsy was for taking them to school and 
giving them to 'Lias one by one, so that each 
child could have her thanks separately. But 
Stashie wanted to take them to the house when 
'Lias's stepfather would be there, and shame 
him by showing that little girls had had to do 
what he ought to have done. 

Cousin Ann broke into the discussion by ask- 
ing, in her quiet, firm voice, ** Why do you want 
'Lias to know where the clothes come fromt" 

They had forgotten again that she was there, 
and turned around quickly to stare at her. No- 
body could think of any answer to her very- 
queer question. It had not occurred to any one 
that there could he such a question. 



A SEWING SOCIETY 179 

Cousin Ann shifted her ground and asked 
another: **Why did you make these clothes, 
anyhow?** 

They stared again, speechless. Why did she 
ask that f She knew why. 

Finally little Molly said, in her honest, baby 
way, **Why, you know why, Miss Ann! So 'Lias 
Brewster will look nice, and Mr. Pond will 
maybe adopt him.** 

**Well,** said Cousin Ann, **what has that 
got to do with *Lias knowing who did itt** 

**Why, he wouldn't know who to be grate- 
ful to,** cried Betsy. 

**0h,** said Cousin Ann. **0h, I see. You 
didn*t do it to help *Lias. You did it to have 
him grateful to you. I see. Molly is such a 
little girl, it*s no wonder she didn*t really take 
in what you girls were up to.** She nodded 
her head wisely, as though now she under- 
stood. 

But if she did, little Molly certainly did not. 
She had not the least idea what everybody was 
talking about* She looked from one sober, 



180 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

downcast face to another rather anxiously. 
What was the matter? 

Apparently nothing was really the matter, 
she decided, for after a minute's silence Miss 
Ann got up with entirely her usual face of 
cheerful gravity, and said: ** Don't you think 
you little girls ought to top off this last after- 
noon with a tea-party f There's a new batch of 
cookies, and you can make yourselves some 
lemonade if you want to," 

They had these refreshments out on the 
porch, in the sunshine, with their dolls for 
guests and. a great deal of chatter for sauce. 
Nobody said another word about how to give 
the clothes to 'Lias, till, just as the girls were 
going away, Betsy said, walking along with the 
two older ones, **Say, don't you think it'd be 
fun to go some evening after dark and leave 
the clothes on liias's doorstep, and knock and 
run away quick before anybody comes to the 
doort" She spoke in an uncertain voice and 
smoothed Deborah's carved wooden curls. 

''Yes, I do !" said Ellen, not looking at Betsy 



1- 



A SEWING SOCIETY 181 

but down at the weeds by the roaxi. **I think it 
would be lots of fun!*' 

Little Molly, playing with Annie and Eliza, 
did not hear this ; but she was allowed to go with 
the older girls on the great expedition. 

It was a warm, dark evening in late May, with 
the frogs piping their sweet, high note, and 
the first of the fireflies wheeling over the wet 
meadows near the tumble-down house where 
'Lias lived. The girls took turns in carrying 
the big paper-wrapped bundle, and stole along 
in the shadow of the trees, full of excitement, 
looking over their shoulders at nothing and 
pressing their hands over their mouths to keep 
back the giggles. There was, of course, no rea- 
son on earth why they should giggle, which is, 
of course, the very reason why they did. If 
youVe ever been a little girl you know about 
that. 

One window of the small house was dimly 
lighted, they found, when they came in sight of 
it, and they thrilled with excitement and joyful 



182 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

alarm. Suppose 'Lias's dreadful stepfather 
should come out and yell at themt They came 
forward on tiptoe, making a great deal of noise 
by stepping on twigs, rustling bushes, crackling 
gravel xmder their feet and doing all the other 
things that make such a noise at night and 
never do in the daytime. But nobody stirred 
inside the room with ,the lighted window. They 
crept forward and peeped cautiously inside 
. . . and stopped giggling. The dim light com- 
ing from a little kerosene lamp with a smoky 
chimney fell on a dismal, cluttered room, a bare, 
greasy wooden table, and two broken-backed 
chairs, with little 'Lias in one of them. He had 
fallen asleep with his head on his arms, his 
pinched, dirty, sad little figure showing in the 
light from the lamp. His feet dangled high 
above the floor in their broken, muddy shoes. 
One sleeve was torn to the shoulder. A piece of 
dry bread had slipped from his bony little hand 
and a tin dipper stood beside him on the bare 
table. Nobody else was in the room, nor evi- 
dently in the darkened, empty, fireless house. 



He had fallen asleep nitli liis lit-a. 



A SEWING SOCIETY 183 

As long as she lives Betsy will never forget 
what she saw that night through that 
window. Her eyes grew very hot and her hands 
very cold. Her heart thumped hard. She 
reached for little Molly and gave her a great 
hug in the darkness. Suppose it were little 
Molly asleep there, all alone ia the dirty, dismal 
house, with no supper and nobody to put her 
to bed. She found that Ellen, next her, was 
crying quietly into the comer of her apron. 

Nobody said a word. Stashie, who had the 
bundle, walked around soberly to the front 
door, put it down, and knocked loudly. They 
all darted away noiselessly to the road, to the 
shadow of the trees, and waited until the door 
opened. A square of yellow light appeared, 
with *Lias ^s figure, very small, at the bottom of 
it. They saw him stoop and pick up the bun- 
dle and go back into the house. Then they 
went quickly and silently back, separating at 
the cross-roads with no good-night greetings. 

Molly and Betsy began to climb the hill to 
Putney Farm. It was a very warm night for 



184 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

May, and little Molly began to puff for breath. 
'^Let's sit down on this rock awhile and rest/' 
she said. 

They were half-way up the hill now. From 
the rock they conld see the lights in the farm- 
houses scattered along the valley road and on 
the side of the mountain opposite them, like big 
stars fallen from the multitude above. Betsy 
lay down on the rock and looked up at the stars. 
After a silence little Molly's chirping voice said, 
'^Oh, I thought you said we were going to march 
up to lias in school and give him his clothes. 
Did you forget about that! *' 

Betsy gave a wriggle of shame as she remem- 
bered that plan. ^*No, we didn't forget it," she 
said. ^'We thou^t this would be a better 
way." 

''But howll lias know who to thankT" asked 
Molly. 

"That's no matter," said Betsy. Yes, it was 
Elizabeth- Ann-that-was who said that. And 
meant it, too. She was not even thinking of 
what she was saying. Between her and the 



A SEWING SOCIETY 186 

stars, thick over her in the black, soft sky, she 
saw again that dirty, disordered room and the 
little boy, all alone, asleep with a piece of dry 
bread in his bony little fingers. 

She looked hard and long at that picture, all 
the time seeing the quiet stars through it. And 
then she turned over and hid her face on the 
rock. She had said her **Now I lay me'' every 
night since she could remember, but she had 
never prayed till she lay there with her face 
on the rock, saying over and over, **0h, God, 
please, please, please make Mr. Fond adopt 
'Lias.'' 



CHAPTER rX 

THE NEW CLOTHES FAH. 

All the little girls went early to school the 
next day, eager for the first glimpse of 'Lias in 
his new clothes. They now quite enjoyed the 
mystery about who had made them, and were 
full of agreeable excitement as the little figure 
was seen approaching down the road. He wore 
the gray trousers and the little blue shirt; the 
trousers were a little too long, the shirt a per- 
fect fit. The girls gazed at him with pride as 
he came on the playground, walking briskly 
along in the new shoes, which were just the 
right size. He had been wearing all winter a 
pair of cast-off women's shoes. 

From a distance he looked like another child. 
But as he came closer . . . oh I his face! his 
hair! his hands! his finger-nails! The little 

186 



THE NEW CLOTHES FAIL 187 

fellow had evidently tried to live up to his 
beautiful new raiment, for his hair had been 
roughly put back from his face, and around his 
mouth and nose was a small area of almost clean 
skin, where he had made an attempt at washing 
his face. But he had made practically no im- 
pression on the layers of encrusted dirt, and 
the little girls looked at him ruefully. Mr. 
Pond would certainly never take a fancy to 
such a dreadfully grimy child 1 His new, clean 
clothes made him look all the worse, as though 
dirty on purpose! 

The little girls retired to their rock-pile and 
talked over their bitter disappointment, Balph 
and the other boys absorbed in a game of mar- 
bles near them. 'Lias had gone proudly into 
the schoolroom to show himself to Miss Benton. 

It was the day before Decoration Day and a 
good deal of time was taken up with practising 
on the recitations they were going to give at the 
Decoration Day exercises in the village. Sev- 
eral of the children from each school in the 
township were to speak pieces in the Town Hall. 



188 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

Betsy was to recite Barbara Frietchie, her first 
love in that school, but she droned it over with 
none of her usual pleasure, her eyes on little 
'Lias's smiling face, so unconscious of its 
dinginess. 

At noon time the boys disappeared down 
toward the swimming-hole. They often took a 
swim at noon and nobody thought anything 
about it on that day. The little girls ate their 
lunch on their rock, mourning over the failure of 
their plans, and scheming ways to meet the new 
obstacle. Stashie suggested, "Couldn't your 
Aunt Abigail invite him up to your house for 
supper and then give him a bath afterward?" 
But Betsy, although she had never heard of 
treating a supper-guest in this way, was sure 
that it was not possible. She shook her head 
sadly, her eyes on the far-off gleam of white 
where the boys jumped up and down in their 
swimming-hole. That was not a good name for 
it, because there was only one part of it deep 
enough to swim in. Mostly it was a shallow bay 
in an arm of the river, where the water was 



THE NEW CLOTHES FAH. 189 

only up to a little boy's knees and where there 
was almost no current. The sun beating down 
on it made it quite warm, and even the first- 
graders ' mothers allowed them to go in. They 
only jumped up and down and squealed and 
splashed each other, but they enjoyed that quite 
as much as Frank and Harry, the two seventh- 
graders, enjoyed their swooping dives from the 
spring-board over the pool. They were late in 
getting back from the river that day and Miss 
Benton had to ring her bell hard in that direc- 
tion before they came trooping up and clattered 
into the schoolroom, where the girls already 
sat, their eyes lowered virtuously to their books, 
with a prim air of self-righteousness. They 
were never late I 

Betsy was reciting her arithmetic. She was 
getting on famously with that. Weeks ago, as 
soon as Miss Benton had seen the confusion of 
the little girPs mind, the two had settled down 
to a serious struggle with that subject. Miss 
Benton had had Betsy recite all by herself, so 
she wouldn't be flurried by the others; and to 



190 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

begin with had gone back^ back, back to bed- 
rock, to things Betsy absolutely knew, to the 
2x2's and the 3x3*s. And then, very cau- 
tiously, a step at a time, they had advanced, 
stopping short whenever Betsy felt a beginning 
of that bewildered *^ guessing '* impulse which 
made her answer wildly at random. 

After a while, in the dark night which arith- 
metic had always been to her, Betsy began to 
make out a few definite outlines, which were 
always there, facts which she knew to be so with- 
out guessing from the expression of her teach- 
er 's face. From that moment her progress 
had been rapid, one sure fact hooking itself 
on to another, and another one on to that. She 
attacked a page of problems now with a zest 
and self-confidence which made her arithmetic 
lessons among the most interesting hours at 
school. On that day she was standing up at 
the board, a piece of chalk in her hand, chew- 
ing her tongue and thinking hard how to find 
out the amount of wall-paper needed for a 
room 12 feet square with two doors and two 



THE NEW CLOTHES FAIL 191 

windows in it, when her eye feU on Uttle 
'Lias, bent over his reading book. She for- 
got her arithmetic, she forgot where she 
was. She stared and stared, till Ellen, catch- 
ing the direction of her eyes, looked and 
stared too. Little 'Lias was clean, preter- 
natnrally, almost wetly clean. His face was 
clean and shining, his ears shone pink and fair, 
his hands were absolutely spotless, even his 
Jiay-colored hair was clean and, still damp, 
brushed flatly back till it shone in the sun. 
Betsy blinked her eyes a great many times, 
tlunking she must be dreaming, but every time 
she opened them there was 'Lias, looking white 
and polished like a new willow whistle. 

Somebody poked her hard in the ribs. She 
started and, turning, saw Balph, who was doing 
a sum beside her on the board, scowling at her 
under his black brows. ^^Quit gawking at 
'Lias," he said under his breath. **You make 
me tired I" Something conscious and shame- 
faced in his maimer made Betsy understand at 
once what had happened. Balph had taken 



192 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

'Lias down to the little boys' wading-place and 
had washed him all over. Sl^e remembered 
now that they had a piece of yellow soap there. 

Her face broke into a radiant smile and she 
began to say something to Ralph about how 
nice that was of him, but he frowned again and 
said, crossly, **Aw, cut it out! Look at what 
you've done there! If I couldn't 9x8 and get 
it right!" 

^^How queer boys are!" thought Betsy, eras- 
ing her mistake and putting down the right 
answer. But she did not try to speak to Ralph 
again about 'Lias, not even after school, when 
she saw 'Lias going home with a new cap on 
his head which she recognized as Ralph's. She 
just looked at Ralph's bare head, and smiled 
her eyes at him, keeping the rest of her face 
sober, the way Cousin Ann did. For just a 
minute Ralph almost smiled back. At least he 
looked quite friendly. They stepped along 
toward home together, the first time Ralph had 
ever condescended to walk beside a girl. 

'*We got a new colt," he said. 



THE NEW CLOTHES FAIL 193 

* * Have you I * ' she said. * * What color T " 

** Black, with a white star, and they're goiag 
to let me ride him when he's old enough.'' 

* * My ! Won't that be nice ! ' ' said Betsy. 
And all the time they were both thinking of 

little 'Lias with his new clothes and his sweet, 
thin face shining with cleanliness. 

**Do you like spruce gum!" asked Ralph. 

**0h, I love gum!" said Betsy. 

**Well, I'll bring you down a chunk tomor- 
row, if I don't forget it," said Ralph, turning 
oflf at the cross-roads. 

They had not mentioned 'Lias at all. 

The next day they were to have school only 
in the morning. In the afternoon they were to 
go in a big hay- wagon down to the village to 
the "exercises." 'Lias came to school in his 
new blue-serge trousers and his white blouse. 
The little girls gloated over his appearance, 
and hung around him, for who was to "visit 
school" that morning but Mr. Pond himself I 
Cousin Ann had arranged it somehow. It 
took Cousin Ann to fix things ! During recess, 



194 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

as they were playing still-pond-no-more-mov- 
ing on the playgronnd, Mr. Pond and Unde 
Henry drew np to the edge of the playground, 
stopped their horse, and, talking and laugh- 
ing together, watched the children at play. 
Betsy looked hard at the big, burly, kind-faced 
man with the smiling eyes and the hearty langh, 
and decided that he would "do'' perfectly for 
'Lias. But what she decided was to have little 
importance, apparently, for after all he would 
not get out of the wagon, but said he'd have 
to drive right on to the village. Just like that, 
with no excuse other than a careless glance at 
his watch. No, he guessed he wouldn't have 
time, this morning, he said. Betsy cast an im- 
ploring look up into Uncle Henry's face, but 
evidently he felt himself quite helpless, too. Oh, 
if only Cousin Ann had come ! She would have 
marched him into the schoolhouse double-quick. 
But UiQcle Henry was not Cousin Ann, and 
though Betsy saw him, as they drove away, 
conscientiously point out little 'Lias, resplend- 
ent and shitting, Mr. Pond only nodded absently, 



\ 



THE NEW CLOTHES FAIL 196 

as though he were thinking of something 
else. 

Betsy Gonld have cried with disappointment ; 
but she and the other girls, putting their heads 
together for comfort, told each other that there 
was time enough yet. Mr. Pond would not 
leave town till tomorrow. Perhaps . . . there 
was still some hope. 

But that afternoon even this last hope was 
dashed. As they gathered at the schoolhouse, 
the girls fresh and crisp in their newly starched 
dresses, with red or blue hair-ribbons, the boys 
very self-conscious in their dark suits, clean 
collars, new caps (all but Ralph), and blacked 
shoes, there was no little 'Lias. They waited 
and waited, but there was no sign of him. Fi- 
nally Uncle Henry^ who was to drive the straw- 
ride down to town, looked at his watch, gath- 
ered up the reins, and said they would be late 
if they didn't start right away. Maybe 'Lias 
had had a chance to ride in with somebody else. 

They all piled in, the horses stepped off, 
the wheels grated on the stones. And just at 



196 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

that moment a dismal sound of sobbing wails 
reached them from the woodshed back of the 
schoolhouse. The diildren tumbled out as fast 
as they had tumbled in, and ran back, Betsy 
and Balph at their head. There in the wood- 
shed was little 'Lias, huddled in the corner 
behind some wood, crying and crying and cry- 
ing, digging his fists into his eyes, his face all 
smeared with tears and dirt. And he was 
dressed again in his filthy, torn old overalls and 
ragged shirt. His poor little bare feet shone 
with a piteous cleanliness in that dark place. 

''What's the matter! What's the matter!" 
the children asked him all at once. He flung 
himself on Ralph, burying his face in the other 
boy's coat, and sobbed out some disjointed 
story which only Ealph could hear . . . and 
then as last and final climax of the disaster, who 
should come looking over the shoulders of the 
children but Uncle Henry and Mr. Pond! And 
Tiias all ragged and dirty again! Betsy sat 
down weakly on a pile of wood, utterly dis- 
heartened. What was the use of anything I 






THE NEW CLOTHES FAIL 197 

"What's the matter? '^ asked the two men to- 
gether. 

Balph turned, with an angry toss of his dark 
heady and told them bitterly, over the heads of 
the children: "He just had some decent clothes. 
... First ones he 's ever had I And he was 
lotting on going to the exercises in the Town 
Hall. And that darned old skunk of a step- 
father has gone and taken 'em and sold 'em to 
get whiskey. I 'd like to kill him ! ' ' 

Betsy could have flung her arms around Balph, 
he looked so exactly the way she felt. "Yes, 
he is a darned old skunk ! ' ' she said to herself, 
rejoicing in the bad words she did not know be- 
fore. It took bad words to qualify what had 
happened. 

She saw an electric spark pass from Balph 's 
blazing eyes to Mr. Pond's broad face, now 
grim and fierce. She saw Mr. Pond step for- 
ward, brushing the children out of his way, 
like a giant among dwarfs. She saw him stoop 
and pick little 'Lias up in his great, strong 
arms, and, holding him close, stride furiously 



198 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

out of the woodshed, across the playground to 
the buggy which was waiting for him, 

**He'll go to the exercises all right!'' he 
called back over his shoulder in a great roar. 
**He'll go, if I have to buy out the whole town 
to get him an outfit ! And that whelp won't get 
these clothes, either; you hear me say sol" 

He sprang into the buggy and, holding 'lias 
on his lap, took up the reins and drove rapidly 
forward. 

They saw little 'Idas again, entering the 
Town Hall, holding fast to Mr. Pond's hand. 
He was magnificent in a whole suit of store 
clothes, coat and all, and he wore white stock- 
ings and neat, low shoes, like a city child ! 

They saw him later, up on the platform, 
squeaking out his little patriotic poem, his eyes, 
shining like stars, fiixed on one broad, smiling 
face in the audience. When he finished he was 
overcome with shyness by the applause, and for 
a moment forgot to turn and leave the plat- 
form. He hung his head, and, looking out 
from under his eyebrows, gave a quaint, shy 



THE NEW CLOTHES FAIL 199 

little smile at the audience. Betsy saw Mr. 
Pond^s great smile waver and grow dim. His 
eyes filled so full that he had to take out his 
handkerchief and blow his nose loudly. 

And they saw little 'Lias once more, for the 
last time. Mr. Pond's buggy drove rapidly past 
their slow-moving hay- wagon, Mr. Pond holding 
the reins masterfully in one hand. Beside him, 
very close, sat 'Lias with his lap full of toys, oh, 
full — ^like Christmas ! In that fleeting glimpse 
they saw a toy train, a stuffed dog, a candy- 
box, a pile of picture-books, tops, paper-bags, 
and even the swinging crane of the big mechan- 
ical toy dredge that everybody said the store- 
keeper could never sell to anybody because it 
cost so much! 

As they passed swiftly, 'Lias looked out at 
them and waved his little hand flutteringly. His 
other hand was tightly clasped in Mr. Pond's 
big one. He was smiling at them all. His eyes 
looked dazed and radiant. He turned his head 
as the buggy flashed by to call out, in a shrill, 
exulting little shout, "Good-bye I Good-bye I 



200 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

« 

I^m going to live with . . . '' They could hear 
no more. He was gone, only his little hand still 
waving at them over the back of the buggy seat. 

Betsy drew a long, long breath. She f omid 
that Ralph was looking at her. For a moment 
she couldn^t think what made him look so dif- 
ferent. Then she saw that he was smiling. 
She had never seen him smile before. He 
smiled at her as though he were sure she would 
understand, and never said a word. Betsy 
looked forward again and saw the gleaming 
buggy vanishing over the hill in front of them. 
She smiled back at Ralph silently. 

Not a thing had happened the way she had 
planned ; no, not a single thing I But it seemed 
to her she had never been so happy in her 
life. 






CHAPTER X 

BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 

Betsy's birthday was the ninth day of Sep- 
tember, and the Necronsett Valley Fair is al- 
ways held from the eighth to the twelfth. So it 
was decided that Betsy should celebrate her 
birthday by going up to Woodford, where the 
Fair was held. The Putneys weren't going that 
year, but the people on the next farm, the 
Wendells, said they could make room in their 
surrey for the two little girls; for, of course, 
Molly was going, too. In fact, she said the 
Fair was held partly to celebrate her being six 
years old. This would happen on the seven- 
teenth of October. Molly insisted that that was 
plenty close enough to the ninth of September 
to be celebrated then. This made Betsy feel 
like laughing out, but observing that the Put- 

201 



202 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

neys only looked at each other with the faintest 
possible qnirk in the comers of their serions 
mouths, she understood that they were afraid 
that Molly's feelings might be hurt if they 
laughed out loud. So Betsy tried to curve her 
young lips to the same kind and secret mirth. 

And, I can't tell you why, this effort not to 
hurt Molly's feelings made her have a perfect 
spasm of love for Molly. She threw herself on 
her and gave her a great hug that tipped them 
both over on the couch on top of Shep, who 
stopped snoring with his great gurgling snort, 
wriggled out from under them, and stood with 
laughing eyes and wagging tail, looking at them 
as they rolled and giggled among the pillows. 

**What dress are you going to wear to the 
Fair, Betsy t" asked Cousin Ann. **And we 
must decide about Molly's, too." 

This stopped their rough-and-tumble fun in 
short order, and they applied themselves to the 
serious question of a toilet. 

When the great day arrived and the surrey 
drove away from the Wendells' gate, Betsy was 



BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 208 

in a fresh pink-and-white gingham which she 
had helped Cousin Ann make, and plump MoUy 
looked like something good to eat in a crisp 
white little dimity, one of Betsy's old dresses, 
with a deep hem taken in to make it short 
enough for the little butter-ball. Because it 
was Betsy's birthday, she sat on the front seat 
with Mr. Wendell, and part of the time, when 
there were not too many teams on the road, she 
drove, herself. Mrs. Wendell and her sister 
filled the back seat solidly full from side to 
side and made one continuous soft lap on which 
Molly happily perched, her eyes shining, her 
round cheeks red with joyful excitement. Betsy 
looked back at her several times and thought 
how very nice Molly looked. She had, of course, 
little idea how she herself looked, because the 
mirrors at Putney Farm were all small and 
high up, and anyhow they were so old and 
greenish that they made everybody look very 
queer-colored. You looked in them to see if 
your hair was smooth, and that was about all 
you could stand. 



204 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

So it was a great surprise to Betsy later ia 
the morning^ as she and Molly wandered 
hand in hand through the wonders of Industrial 
Hall, to catch sight of Molly in a full-length 
mirror as clear as water. She was almost 
startled to see how faithfully reflected were the 
yellow of the little girPs curls, the clear pink 
and white of her face, and the blue of her soft 
eyes. An older girl was reflected there also, 
near Molly, a dark-eyed, red-cheeked, sturdy lit- 
tle girl, standing very straight on two strong 
legs, holding her head high and free, her dark 
eyes looking out brightly from her tanned face. 
For an instant Betsy gazed into those clear eyes 
and then . . . why, gracious goodness ! That 
was herself she was looking at ! How changed 
she was 1 How very, very different she looked 
from the last time she had seen herself in a 
big mirror I She remembered it well — out shop- 
ping with Aunt Frances in a department store, 
she had caught sight of a pale little girl, with 
a thin neck, and spindling legs half -hidden in 
the folds of Aunt Frances's skirts. But she 



BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 206 

didn't look even like the sister of this browned, 
mnscnlar, upstanding child who held Molly's 
hand so firmly. 

All this came into her mind and went out 
again in a moment, for Molly caught sight of 
a big doll in the next aisle and they hurried 
over to inspect her clothing. The mirror was 
forgotten in the many exciting sights and 
sounds and smells of their first county 
fair. 

The two little girls were to wander about as 
they pleased until noon, when they were to meet 
the Wendells in the shadow of Industrial HaU 
and eat their picnic lunch together. The two 
parties arrived together from different direc- 
tions, having seen very different sides of the 
Fair. The children were full of the merry-go- 
rounds, the balloon-seller, the toy-venders, and 
the pop-corn stands, while the Wendells ex- 
changed views on the shortness of a hog's legs, 
the dip in a cow's back, and the thickness of a 
sheep's wool. The Wendells, it seemed, had 
met some cousins they didn't expect to see. 



206 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

who, not knowing about Betsy and Molly, 
had hoped that they might ride home with the 
Wendells. 

**Don^t you suppose, '^ Mrs. Wendell asked 
Betsy, **that you and Molly could go home with 
the Vaughans? They're here in their big 
wagon. You could sit on .the floor with the 
Vaughan children. '^ 

Betsy and Molly thought this would be great 
fun, and agreed enthusiastically. 

**A11 right then,*' said Mrs. Wendell. She 
called to a young man who stood inside the 
building, near an open window: **0h, Frank, 
Will Vaughan is going to be in your booth this 
afternoon, isn't hef 

**Yes, ma'am,'' said the young man. **His 
turn is from two to four." 

**Well, you tell him, will you, that the two 
little girls who live at Putney Farm are going 
to go home with them. They can sit on the bot- 
tom of the wagon with the Vaughan young 
ones." 

**Yes, ma'am," said the young man, with a 



BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 207 

noticeable lack of interest in how Betsy and 
Molly got home. 

**Now, Betsy/' said Mrs. Wendell, **you go 
round to that booth at two and ask Will 
Vaughan what time they're going to start and 
where their wagon is, and then you be sure not 
to keep them waiting a minute.'' 

**No, I won't," said Betsy. ** I'll be sure to 
be there on time." 

She and Molly still had twenty cents to spend 
out of the forty they had brought with them, 
twenty-five earned by berry-picking and fifteen 
a present from Uncle Henry. They now put 
their heads together to see how they could 
make the best possible use of their four nickels. 
Cousin Ann had put no restrictions whatever 
on them, saying they could buy any sort of 
truck or rubbish they could find, except the 
pink lemonade. She said she had been told the 
venders washed their glasses in that, and their 
hands, and for all she knew their faces. Betsy 
was for merry-go-rounds, but Molly yearned 
for a big red balloon ; and while they were buy- 



208 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

ing that a man came by with toy dogs, little 
brown dogs with curled-wire tails. He called 
out that they would bark when you pulled their 
tails^ and seeing the little girls looking at him 
he pulled the tail of the one he held. It gave 
forth a fine loud yelp, just like Shep when his 
tail got stepped on. Betsy bought one, all done 
up neatly in a box tied with blue string. She 
thought it a great bargain to get a dog who 
would bark for five cents. (Later on, when they 
undid the string and opened the box, they found 
the dog had one leg broken off and wouldn't 
make the faintest squeak when his tail was 
pulled; but that is the sort of thing you must 
expect to have happen to you at a county 
fair.) 

Now they had ten cents left and they decided 
to have a ride apiece on the merry-go-round. 
But, glancing up at the clock-face in the tower 
over Agricultural Hall, Betsy noticed it was 
half -past two and she decided to go first to the 
booth where Will Vaughan was to be and find 
out what time they would start for home. She 



BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 209 

found the booth with no difficulty, but William 
Vaughan was not in it. Nor was the young 
man she had seen before. There was a new 
one, a strange one, a careless, whistling young 
man, with very bright socks, very yellow shoes, 
and very striped cuffs. He said, in answer to 
Betsy ^s inquiry: ** Vaughan I Will Vaughan! 
Never heard the name,'* and immediately went 
on whistling and looking up and down the aisle 
over the heads of the little girls, who stood gaz- 
ing up at him with very wide, startled eyes. 
An older man leaned over from the next booth 
and said : * * Will Vaughan 1 He from Hillsboro t 
Well, I heard somebody say those Hillsboro 
Vaughans had word one of their cows was awful 
sick, and they had to start right home that 
nmiute. ' * 

Betsy came to herself out of her momentary 
daze and snatched Molly's hand. ** Hurry! 
quick ! We must find the Wendells before they 
get away!'' 

In her agitation (for she was really very 
much frightened) she forgot how easily terri- 



210 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

fied little Molly was. Her alarm instantly sent 
the child into a panic. **0h, Betsy! Betsy! 
What will we do ! ^ ' she gasped, as Betsy pulled 
her along the aisle and out of the door. 

**0h, the Wendells can't be gone yet/' said 
Betsy reassuringly, though she was not at all 
sure she was telling the truth. She ran as fast 
as she could drag Molly's fat legs, to the horse- 
shed where Mr. Wendell had tied his horses and 
left the surrey. The horse-shed was empty, 
quite empty. 

Betsy stopped short and stood still, her heart 
seeming to be up in her throat so that she could 
hardly breathe. After all, she was only ten that 
day, you must remember. Molly began to cry 
loudly, hiding her weeping face in Betsy's 
dress. **What will we do, Betsy! What can 
we rfo/" she wailed. 

Betsy did not answer. She did not know 
what they would do! They were eight miles 
from Putney Farm, far too much for Molly to 
walk, and anyhow neither of them knew the 
way. They had only ten cents left, and nothing 



BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 211 

to eat. And the only people they knew in all 
that throng of strangers had gone back to Hills- 
boro. 

**What will we do, Betsy?'' Molly kept on 
crying out, horrified by Betsy's silence and evi- 
dent consternation. 

The other child's head swam. She tried again 
the formula which had helped her when Molly 
fell into the Wolf Pit, and asked herself, des- 
perately, **What would Cousin Ann do if she 
were here!" But that did not help her much 
now, because she could not possibly imagine 
what Cousin Ann would do under such appall- 
ing circumstances. Yes, one thing Cousin Ann 
would be sure to do, of course ; she would quiet 
Molly first of all. 

At this thought Betsy sat down on the 
ground and took the panic-stricken little girl 
into her lap, wiping away the tears and saying, 
stoutly, **Now, Molly, stop crying this minute. 
I'll take care of you, of course. I'll get you 
home all right." 

**How'll you ever do itl" sobbed Molly. 



212 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

"Everybody's gone and left us. We can't 
walkl^' 

"Never you mind how/' said Betsy, trying 
to be facetions and mock-mysterious, though 
her own under lip was quivering a little. 
"That's my surprise party for you. Just you 
wait. Now come on back to that booth. Maybe 
Will Vaughan didn't go home with his folks.*' 

She had very little hope of this, and only 
went back there because it seemed to her a 
little less dauntingly strange than every other 
spot in the howling wilderness about her ; for all 
at once the Fair, which had seemed so lively and 
cheerful and gay before, seemed now a horrible, 
frightening, noisy place, full of hurried stran- 
gers who came and went their own ways, with 
not a glance out of their hard eyes for two 
little girls stranded far from home. 

The bright-colored young man was no better 
when they found him again. He stopped his 
whistling only long enough to say, "Nope, no 
Will Vaughan anywhere around these diggings 
yet." 



BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 218 

**We were going home with the Vaughans/' 
murmured Betsy, in a low tone, hoping for 
some help from him. 

'* Looks as though you^d better go home on 
the cars," advised the young man casually. 
He smoothed his black hair back straighter than 
ever from his forehead and looked over their 
heads. 

**How much does it cost to go to Hillsboro 
on the cars!" asked Betsy with a sinking 
heart. 

**You'll have to ask somebody else about 
that,*' said the young man. *^What I don't 
know about this Bube state I I never was in it 
before.'' He spoke as though he were very 
proud of the fact. 

Betsy turned and went over to the older man 
who had told them about the Vaughans. 

Molly trotted at her heels, quite comforted, 
now that Betsy was talking so competently to 
grown-ups. She did not hear what they said, 
nor try to. Now that Betsy's voice sounded 
all right she had no more fears. Betsy would 



214 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

manage somehow. She heard Betsy's voice 
again talking to the other man, bnt she was busy 
looking at an exhibit of beautiful jelly glasses, 
and paid no attention. Then Betsy led her away 
again out of doors, where everybody was walk- 
ing back and forth under the bright September 
sky, blowing on horns, waving plumes of bril- 
liant tissue-paper, tickling each other with 
peacock feathers, and eating pop-corn and 
candy out of paper bags. 

That reminded Molly that they had ten cents 
yet. ^*0h, Betsy,'* she proposed, *4et's take a 
nickel of our money for some pop-corn. ' ' 

She was startled by Betsy's fierce sudden 
clutch at their little purse and by the quaver in 
her voice as she answered: **No, no, Molly. 
We've got to save every cent of that. I've 
found out it costs thirty cents for us both to 
go home to Hillsboro on the train. The last one 
goes at six o'clock." 

**We haven't got but ten," said Molly. 

Betsy looked at her silently for a moment and 
then burst out, **I'll earn the rest! I'll earn it 



BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 216 

somehow I I'll have to! There isn't any other 
way!'' 

**A11 right," said Molly quaintly, not seeing 
anything unusual in this. **You can, if you 
want to. I'll wait for you here." 

^^No, you won't I" cried Betsy, who had quite 
enough of trying to meet people in a crowd. 
**No, you won't! You just follow me every 
minute! I don't want you out of my sight!" 

They began to move forward now, Betsy's 
eyes wildly roving from one place to another. 
How could a little girl earn money at a coun- 
ty fair! She was horribly afraid to go up 
and speak to a stranger, and yet how else could 
she begin? 

**Here, Molly, you wait here," she said. 
** Don't you budge till I come back." 

But alas ! Molly had only a moment to wait 
that time, for the man who was selling lemon- 
ade answered Betsy 's shy question with a stare 
and a curt, **Lord, no! What could a young 
one like you do for me!" 

The little girls wandered on, Molly calm and 



216 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

expectant, confident in Betsy; Betsy with a very 
dry month and a very gone feeling. They were 
passing by a big shed-like building now, where 
a large sign proclaimed that the Woodford 
Ladies ' Aid Society would serve a hot chicken 
dinner for thirty-five cents. Of course the sign 
was not accurate, for at half-past three, almost 
four, the chicken dinner had long ago been all 
eaten and in place of the diners was a group 
of weary women moving languidly about or 
standing saggingly by a great table piled with 
dirty dishes. Betsy paused here, meditated 
a moment, and went in rapidly so that her cour- 
age would not evaporate. 

The woman with gray hair looked down at 
her a little impatiently and said, **Diimer's all 
over.'' 

'*I didn't come for dinner," said Betsy, swal- 
lowing hard. **I came to see if you wouldn't 
hire me to wash your dishes. I'll do them for 
twenty-fiv6 cents." 

The woman laughed, looked from little Betsy 
to the great pile of dishes, and said, turning 



BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 217 

away, ** Mercy, child, if you washed from now 
till morning, you wouldn't make a hole in what 
we Ve got to do/* 

Betsy heard her say to the other women, 
* * Some young one wanting more money for the 
side-shows/' 

Now, now was the moment to remember 
what Cousin Ann would have done. She would 
certainly not have shaken all over with hurt 
feelings nor have allowed the tears to come 
stingingly to her eyes. So Betsy sternly made 
herself stop doing these things. And Cousin 
Ann wouldn't have given way to the dreadful 
sinking feeling of utter discouragement, but 
would have gone right on to the next place. 
So, although Betsy felt like nothing so much 
as crooking her elbow over her face and crying 
as hard as she could cry, she stiffened her back, 
took Molly's hand again, and stepped out, heart- 
sick within but very steady (although rather 
pale) without. 

She and Molly walked along in the crowd 
again, Molly laughing and pointing out the 



218 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

pranks and antics of the young people, who 
were feelmg livelier than ever as the afternoon 
wore on. Betsy looked at them grimly with 
unseeing eyes. It was four o'clock. The last 
train for Hillsboro left in two hours and she 
was no nearer having the price of the tickets. 
She stopped for a moment to get her breath; 
for, although they were walking slowly, she 
kept feeling breathless and choked. It occurred 
to her that if ever a little girl had had a more 
horrible birthday she never heard of one! 

**0h, I wish I could, Dan!*' said a young 
voice near her. **But honest! Momma 'd just 
eat me up alive if I left the booth for a minute ! ' ' 

Betsy turned quickly. A very pretty girl 
with yellow hair and blue eyes (she looked as 
Molly might when she was grown up) was lean- 
ing over the edge of a little canvas-covered 
booth, the sign of which announced that home- 
made doughnuts and soft drinks were for sale 
there. A young man, very flushed and gay, was 
pulling at the girl's blue gingham sleeve. "Oh, 
come on, Annie. Just one turn! The floor's 



BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 219 

elegant. You can keep an eye on the booth from 
the hall 1 Nobody's going to run away with the 
old thing anyhow ! ' * 

*^ Honest, I'd love to I But I got a great lot 
of dishes to wash, too! You know Monuna!" 
She looked longingly toward the open-air danc- 
ing floor, out from which just then floated a 
burst of brazen music. 

* * Oh, please I ' ' said a small voice. * * I '11 do it 
for twenty cents. " 

Betsy stood by the girl's elbow, all quivering 
earnestness. 

'*Do what, kiddie!" asked the girl in a good- 
natured surprise. 

** Everything!" said Betsy, compendiously. 
* * Everything ! Wash the dishes, tend the booth ; 
you can go dance ! I'll do it for twenty cents." 

The eyes of the girl and the man met in high 
amusement. **My! Aren't we up and com- 
ing!" said the man. "You're most as big as 
a pint-cup, aren't you!" he said to Betsy. 

The little girl flushed— she detested being 
laughed at — ^but she looked straight into the 



220 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

laughing eyes. **I*m ten years old today,'' she 
said, **and I can wash dishes as well as any- 
body. ' * She spoke with dignity. 

The young man burst out into a great laugh. 

** Great kid, whatf he said to the girl, and 
then, **Say, Annie, why notf Your mother 
won't be here for an hour. The kid can keep 
folks from walking off with the dope and . . . '' 

**I'll do the dishes, too,'' repeated Betsy, try- 
ing hard not to mind being laughed at, and 
keeping her eyes fixed steadily on the tickets to 
Hillsboro. 

**Well, by gosh," said the young man, laugh- 
ing. **Here'sourchance, Annie, for fair I Come 
along!" 

The girl laughed, too, out of high spirits. 
** Wouldn't Momma be crazy!" she said hilari- 
ously. * * But she '11 never know. Here, you cute 
kid, here's my apron." She took off her 
long apron and tied it around Betsy's neck. 
* ' There 's the soap, there 's the table. You stack 
the dishes up on that counter." 

She was out of the little gate in the counter in 



BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 221 

a twirOding, just as Molly, in answer to a beckon- 
ing gesture from Betsy, came in. ^' Hello, 
there ^s another one ! ' ^ said the gay young man, 
gayer and gayer. ** Hello, button! What you 
going to do ? I suppose when they try to crack 
the safe you 11 run at them and bark and drive 
them awayl'^ 

Molly opened her sweet, blue eyes very wide, 
not understanding a single word. The girl 
laughed, swooped back, gave Molly a kiss, and 
disappeared, running side by side with the 
young man toward the dance hall. 

Betsy mounted on a soap box and began joy- 
fully to wash the dishes. She had never thought 
that ever in her life would she simply love to 
wash dishes beyond anything else I But it was 
so. Her relief was so great that she could have 
kissed the coarse, thick plates and glasses as 
she washed them. 

*^It's all right, Molly; it's all rightl*' she 
quavered exultantly to Molly over her shoulder. 
But as Molly had not (from the moment Betsy 
took command) suspected that it was not all 



222 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

right, she only nodded and asked if she might 
sit up on a barrel where she could watch the 
crowd go by. 

"I guess you could. I don't know why not/* 
said Betsy doubtfully. She lifted her up and 
went back to her dishes. Never were dishes 
washed better! 

^^Two doughnut Sy please/' said a man's voice 
behind her. 

Ohy mercy, there was somebody come to 
buy I Whatever should she dot She came for- 
ward intending to say that the owner of the 
booth was away and she didn't know anything 
about . . . but the man laid down a nickel, took 
two doughnuts, and turned away. Betsy gasped 
and looked at the home-made sign stuck into the 
big pan of doughnuts. Sure enough, it read ^'2 
for 5." She put the nickel up on a shelf and 
went back to her dishwashing. Selling things 
wasn't so hard, she reflected. 

As her hunted feeling of desi>eration relaxed 
she began to find some fun in her new situation, 
and when a woman with two Uttle boys ap- 



e disheB washed better I 



BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 228 

proached she came forward to wait on her, 
elated, important. **Two for five,*^ she said in 
a businesslike tone. The woman put down a 
dime, took up four doughnuts, divided them be- 
tween her sons, and departed. 

**Myl*' said Molly, looking admiringly at 
Betsy's coolness over this transaction. Betsy 
went back to her dishes, stepping high. 

**0h, Betsy, see! The pig! The big oxl^' 
cried Molly now, looking from her coign of van- 
tage down the wide, grass-grown lane between 
the booths. 

Betsy craned her head around over her 
shoulder, continuing conscientiously to wash 
and wipe the dishes. The prize stock was being 
paraded around the Fair; the great prize ox, 
his shining horns tipped with blue rosettes ; the 
prize cows, with wreaths around their necks; 
the prize horses, four or five of them as glossy 
as satin, curving their bright, strong necks and 
stepping as though on eggs, their manes and 
tails braided with bright ribbon ; and then, * * Oh, 
Betsy, look at the pig 1 * ' screamed Molly again — 



224 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

the smaller animals, the sheep, the calves, the 
colts, and the pig, which waddled along with 
portly dignity. 

Betsy looked as well as she conld over her 
shonlder . . . and in years to come she can 
shnt her eyes and see again in every detail that 
mstic procession under the golden, September 
Ught. 

But she looked anxiously at the clock. It was 
nearing five. Oh, suppose the girl forgot and 
danced too long! 

^ * Two bottles of ginger ale and half a dozen 
doughnuts," said a man with a woman and 
three children. 

Betsy looked feverishly among the bottles 
ranged on the counter, selected two marked 
ginger ale, and glared at their corrugated tin 
stoppers. How did you get them open! 

^*Here^s your opener," said the man, **if 
that^s what you're looking for. Here, you get 
the glasses and I'll open the bottles. We're in 
kind of a hurry. Got to catch a train." 

Well, they were not the only people who had 



BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 225 

to catch a train, Betsy thought sadly. They 
drank in gulps and departed, cramming dough- 
nuts into their mouths. Betsy wished ardently 
that the girl would come back. She was now 
almost sure that she had forgotten and would 
dance there till nightfall. But there, there she 
came, running along, as light-footed after an 
hour^s dancing as when she had left the booth. 

**Here you are, kid,^^ said the young man, 
producing a quarter. **WeVe had the time of 
our young lives, thanks to you.*' 

Betsy gave him back one of the nickels that 
remained to her, but he refused it. 

"No, keep the change,'' he said royally. *^It 
was worth if 

**Then I'll buy two doughnuts with my extra 
nickel," said Betsy. 

"No, you won't," said the girl. "You'll 
take all you want for nothing . . . Momma '11 
never miss 'em. And what you sell here has 
got to be fresh every day. Here, hold out your 
hands, both of you. ' ' 

"Some people came and bought things," said 



226 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

Betsy, happening to remember as she and Molly 
turned away. **The money is on that shelf. '* 

*^Well, nowl'' said the girl, *^if she didn»t 
take hold and sell things I Say • . . " — ^she ran 
after Betsy and gave her a hug — "you smart 
young one, I wish't I had a little sister just 
like you!'* 

Molly and Betsy hurried along out of the 
gate into the main street of the town and down 
to the station. Molly was eating doughnuts as 
she went. They were both quite hungry by this 
time, but Betsy could not think of eating till 
she had those tickets in her hand. 

She pushed her quarter and a nickel into the 
ticket-seller's window and said * * Hillsboro ' ' in 
as confident a tone as she could; but when the 
precious bits of paper were pushed out at her 
and she actually held them, her knees shook 
under her and she had to go and sit down on 
the bench. 

/^Myl Arent these doughnuts good?" said 
Molly. **I never in my life had enough dough- 
ttuta before!*' 



BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 227 

Betsy drew a long breath and began rather 
languidly to eat one herself; she felt, all of a 
sudden, very, very tired. 

She was tireder still when they got out of 
the train at Hillsboro Station and started 
wearily up the road toward Putney Farm. Two 
miles lay before them, two miles which they had 
often walked before, but never after such a day 
as now lay back of them. Molly dragged, her 
feet as she walked and hung heavily on Betsy's 
hand. Betsy plodded along, her head hanging, 
her eyes all gritty with fatigue and sleepiness. 
A light buggy spun round the turn of the road 
behind them, the single horse trotting fast as 
though the driver were in a hurry, the wheels 
rattling smartly on the hard road. The little 
girls drew out to one side and stood waiting 
till the road should be free again. When he 
saw them the driver pulled the horse back so 
quickly it stood almost straight up. He peered 
at them through the twilight and then with a 
loud shout sprang over the side of the buggy. 

It was Uncle Henry — oh, goody, it was Uncle 



228 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

Henry come to meet them I They wouldn 't have 
to walk any further! 

But what was the matter with Uncle Henry? 
' He ran up to them, exclaiming, *^Are ye all 
right? Are ye all right?*' He stooped over 
and felt of them desperately as though he 
expected them to be broken somewhere. And 
Betsy could feel that his old hands were shak- 
ing, that he was trembling all over. When she 
said, **Why, yes, Uncle Henry, we're all right. 
We came home on the cars,'* Uncle Henry 
leaned up against the fence as though he 
couldn't stand up. He took off his hat and 
wiped his forehead and he said — ^it didn't seem 
as though it could be Uncle Henry talking, he 
sounded so excited — ^**Well, weU— well, by gosh! 
My! Well, by thunder! Now! And so here 
ye are ! And you're all right ! Well!'' 

He couldn't seem to stop exclaiming, and 
you can't imagine anything stranger than an 
Utcle Henry who couldn't stop exclaiming. 

After they all got into the buggy he quieted 
down a little and said, * * Thunderation ! But 



BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 229 

weVe had a scare I When the Wendells come 
back with their cousins early this afternoon, 
they said you were coming with the Vaughans. 
And then when you didn't come and didnH 
come, we telephoned to the Vaughans, and they 
said they hadn't seen hide nor hair of ye, and 
didn't even know you were to the Fair at all! 
I tell you, your Aunt Abigail and I had an 
awful turn! Ann and I hitched up quicker 'n 
scat and she put right out with Prince up 
toward Woodford and I took Jessie down this 
way; thought maybe I'd get trace of ye some- 
where here. Well, land I" He wiped his fore- 
head again. * * Wa'n't I glad to see you standin' 
there . . . get along, Jess I I want to get the 
news to Abigail soon as I canl" 

**Now tell me what in thunder did happen to 
youl" 

Betsy began at the beginning and told 
straight through, interrupted at first by indig- 
nant comments from Uncle Henry, who was out- 
raged by the Wendells' loose wearing of their 
responsibility for the children. But as she 



280 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

went on he quieted down to a closely attentive 
silence, interrupting only to keep Jess at her 
top speed. 

Now that it was all safely over, Betsy thought 
her story quite an interesting one, and she 
omitted no detail, although she wondered once 
or twice if perhaps Uncle Henry were listening 
to her, he kept so still. ^*And so I bought the 
tickets and we got home,*' she ended, adding, 
"Oh, Uncle Henry, you ought to have seen the 
prize pig I He was too funny ! * ' 

They turned into the Putney yard now and 
saw Aunt Abigail's bulky form on the porch. 

* ^ Got 'em, Abby 1 All right! No harm done I'* 
shouted Uncle Henry. 

Aunt Abigail turned without a word and 
went back into the house. When the little girls 
dragged their weary legs in they found her 
quietly setting out some supper for them on 
the table, but she was wiping away with her 
apron the joyful tears which ran down her 
cheeks, such white cheeks ! It seemed so strange 
to see rosy Aunt Abigail with a face like paper. 



BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 281 

*'Well, I^m glad to see ye/' she told them 
soberly. ^*Sit right down and have some hot 
milk I had some all ready." 

The telephone rang, she went into the next 
room, and they heard her saying, in an un- 
steady voice: **A11 right, Ann. They're here. 
Your father just brought them in. I haven't 
had time to hear about what happened yet. But 
they're all right. You'd better come home." 

"That's your Cousin Ann telephoning from 
the Marshalls '. ' ' 

She herself went and sat down heavily, and 
when Uncle Henry came in a few minutes later 
she asked him in a rather weak voice for the 
ammonia bottle. He rushed for it, got her a 
fan and a drink of cold water, and hung over 
her anxiously till the color began to come back 
into her pale face. "I know just how you feel. 
Mother," he said sympathetically. "When I 
saw 'em standin' there by the roadside I felt as 
though somebody had hit me a clip right in 
the pit of the stomach." 

The little girls ate their supper in a tired 



232 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

daze, not paying any attention to what fhe 
grown-ups were saying, until rapid hoofs 
clicked on the stones outside and Cousin Ann 
came in quickly, her black eyes snapping. 

"Now, for mercy's sake, tell me what hap- 
pened,'* she said, adding hotly, "and if I don't 
give that Maria Wendell a piece of my mind I" 

Uncle Henry broke in: "I'm going to tell 
what happened. I want to do it. You and 
Mother just listen, just sit right down and 
listen." His voice was shaking with feeling, 
and as he went on and told of Betsy's after- 
noon, her fright, her confusion, her forming the 
plan of coming home on the train and of earn- 
ing the money for the tickets, he made, for once, 
no Putney pretense of casual coolness. His old 
eyes flashed fire as he talked. 

Betsy, watching him, felt her heart swell and 
beat fast in incredulous joy. Why, he was 
proud of her ! She had done something to make 
the Putney cousins proud of her! 

When Uncle Henry came to the part where 
she went on asking for employment after one 



BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 238 

and then another refusal, Cousin Ann reached 
out her long arms and quicjkly, almost roughly, 
gathered Betsy up on her lap, holding her close 
as she listened. Betsy had never before sat on 
Cousin Ann^s lap. 

And when Uncle Henry finished — ^he had not 
forgotten a single thing Betsy had told him — 
and asked, *'What do you think of that for a 
little girl ten years old today r^ Cousin Ann 
opened the flood-gates wide and burst out, **I 
think I never heard of a child ^s doing a smarter, 
grittier thing . . • and I donH care if she does 
hear me say sol'* 

It was a great, a momentous, an historic 
moment ! 

Betsy, enthroned on those strong knees, won- 
dered if any little girl had ever had such a beau- 
tiful birthday. 



CHAPTER XI 

« UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES '' 

About a month after Betsy's birthday, one 
' October day when the leaves were all red and 
yellow, two very momentous events occurred, 
and, in a manner of speaking, at the very same 
time. Betsy had noticed that her kitten Eleanor 
(she still thought of her as a kitten, although 
she was now a big, grown-up cat) spent very 
little time around the house. She came into 
the kitchen two or three times a day, mewing 
loudly for milk and food, but after eating very 
fast she always disappeared at once. Betsy 
missed the purring, contented ball of fur on 
her lap in the long evenings as she played 
checkers, or read aloud, or sewed, or played 
guessing games. She felt rather hurt, too, that 
Eleanor paid her so little attention, and several 
times she tried hard to make her stay, trailing 

284 



« UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 286 

in front of her a spool tied to a string or rolling 
a worsted ball across the floor. But Eleanor 
seemed to have lost all her taste for the things 
she had liked so much. Invariably, the moment 
the door was opened, she darted out and van- 
ished. 

One afternoon Betsy ran out after her, de- 
termined to catch her and bring her back. 
When the cat found she was being followed, she 
bounded along in great leaps, constantly escap- 
ing from Betsy ^s outstretched hand. They 
came thus to the horse-bam, into the open door 
of which Eleanor whisked like a little gray 
shadow, Betsy close behind. The cat flashed 
up the steep, ladder-like stairs that led to the 
hay-loft. Betsy scrambled rapidly up, too. It 
was dark up there, compared to the gorgeous- 
colored October day outside, and for a moment 
she could not see Eleanor. Then she made her 
out, a dim little shape, picking her way over 
the hay, and she heard her talking. Yes, it was 
real talk, quite, quite different from the loud, 
imperious ^'miauwl^^ with which Eleanor asked 



286 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

for her milk. This was the softest, prettiest 
kind of conversation, all little murmurs and 
chirps and sing-songs. Why, Betsy could al- 
most understand it! She could understand it 
enough to know that it was love-talk, and then, 
breaking into this, came a sudden series of 
shrill, little, needle-like cries that fairly filled 
the hay-loft. Eleanor gave a bound forward 
and disappeared. Betsy, very much excited, 
scrambled and climbed up over the hay as fast 
as she could go. 

It was all silent now— the piercing, funny lit- 
tle squalls had stopped as suddenly as they be- 
gan. On the top in a little nest lay Eleanor, 
purring so loudly you could hear her all over 
the big mow, and so proud and happy she could 
ihardly contain herself. Her eyes glistened, 
she arched her back, rolled over and spread out 
her paws, disclosing to Betsy's astounded, de- 
lighted eyes — ^no, she wasnH dreaming — ^two 
dear little kittens, one aU gray, just like its 
mother; one gray with a big bib on his chest 

Oh I How dear they were I How darling, 



" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES »» 287 

and cuddly, and fuzzy! Betsy put her fingers 
very softly on the gray one's head and thrilled 
to feel the warmth of the little living creature. 
**0h, Eleanor !*' she asked eagerly, ^^Can I 
pick one up?'* She lifted the gray one gently 
and held it up to her cheek. The little thing 
nestled down in the warm hollow of her hand. 
She could feel its tiny, tiny little claws pricking 
softly into her palm. *^0h, you sweetness! 
You little, little baby-thing 1 ' ' she said over and 
over in a whisper. 

Eleanor did not stop purring, and she looked 
up with friendly, trusting eyes as her little 
mistress made the acquaintance of her children, 
but Betsy could feel somehow that Eleanor was 
anxious about her kitten, was afraid that, al- 
though the little girl meant everything that was 
kind, her great, clumsy, awkward human hands 
weren't clever enough to hold a baby-cat the 
proper way. **I don't blame you a bit, Elea- 
nor," said Betsy. **I should feel just so in 
your place. There! I won't touch it again!" 
She laid the kitten down carefully by its mother. 



238 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

Eleanor at once began to wash its face very 
vigorously, knocking it over and over with her 
strong tongue. "My I" said Betsy, laughing. 
"You'd scratch my eyes out, if / were as rough 
as that I'' 

Eleanor didn't seem to hear. Or rather she 
seemed to hear something else. For she stopped 
short, her head lifted, her ears pricked up, 
listening very hard to some distant sound. 
Then Betsy heard it, too, somebody coming 
into the bam below, little, quick, uneven foot- 
steps. It must be little Molly, tagging along, as 
she always did. What fun to show Molly the 
kittens ! 

" Betsy 1" called Molly from below. 

"Molly!" called Betsy from above. "Come 
up here quick! I've got something up here." 

There was a sound of scrambling, rapid feet 
on the rough stairs, and Molly's yellow curls 
appeared, shining in the dusk. "I've got 
a . . . " she began, but Betsy did not let her 
finish. 

"Come here, Molly, quick! quick f*' she called. 



** UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES '' 289 

beckoning eagerly, as though the kittens might 
evaporate into thin air if Molly didn't get there 
at once. 

Molly forgot what she was going to say, 
climbed madly up the steep pile of hay, and in 
a moment was lying flat on her stomach beside 
the little family in a spasm of delight that satis- 
fied even Betsy and Eleanor, both of them con- 
vinced that these were the finest kittens the 
world had ever seen. 

**See, there are two,'' said Betsy. "You can 
have one for yoiir very own. And I'll let you 
choose. Which one do you like best!" 

She was hoping that Molly would not take the 
little all-gray one, because she had fallen in love 
with that the minute she saw it. 

**0h, this one with the white on his breast," 

« 

said Molly, without a moment's hesitation. 
'*It's lots the prettiest I Oh, Betsy! For my 
very own!" 

Something white fell out of the folds of her 
skirt on the hay. **0h, yes," she said indiffer- 
ently. **A letter for you. Miss Ann told me 



240 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

to bring it out here. She said she saw you 
streaking it for the barn.'' 

It was a letter from Aunt Prances. Betsy 
opened it, one eye on Molly to see that she did 
not hug her new darling too tightly, and began 
to read it in the ray of dusty sunlight slanting 
in through a crack in the side of the bam. She 
could do this easily, because Aunt Frances al- 
ways made her handwriting very large and 
round and clear, so that a little girl could read 
it without half trying. 

And as she read, everything faded away 
from before her . . . the bam, Molly, the 
kittens . . . she saw nothing but the words on 
the page. 

When she had read the letter through she got 
up quickly, oh ever so quickly ! and went away 
down the stairs. Molly hardly noticed she had 
gone, so absorbing and delightful were the 
kittens. 

Betsy went out of the dusky bam into the 
rich, October splendor and saw none of it. She 



" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 241 

went straight away from the house and the 
bam, straight up into the hill-pasture toward 
her favorite place beside the brook, the shady 
pool under the big maple-tree. At first she 
walked, but after a while she ran, faster and 
faster, as though she could not get there soon 
enough. Her head was down, and one arm was 
crooked over her face. . . . 

And do you know, I^m not going to follow her 
up there, nor let you go. I^m afraid we would 
all cry if we saw what Betsy did under the big 
maple-tree. And the very reason she ran away 
so fast was so that she could be all by herself 
for a very hard hour, and fight it out, alone. 

So let us go back soberly to the orchard where 
the Putneys are, and wait till Betsy comes 
walking listlessly in, her eyes red and her 
cheeks pale. Cousin Ann was up in the top of 
a tree, a basket hung over her shoulder half full 
of striped red Northern Spies; Uncle Henry 
was on a ladder against another tree, filling a 
bag with the beautiful, shining, yellow-green 
Found Sweets^ and Aunt Abigail was moving 



242 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

around, picking up the parti-colored windfalls 
and putting them into barrels ready to go to 
the cider-mill. 

Something about the way Betsy walked, and 
as she drew closer something about the expres- 
sion of her face, and oh I as she began to speak, 
something about the tone of her voice, stopped 
all this cheerful activity as though a bomb had 
gone off in their midst. 

**IVe had a letter from Aunt Frances,'' said 
Betsy, biting her lips, **and she says she's com- 
ing to take me away, back to them, tomorrow." 

There was a big silence; Cousin Ann stood, 
perfectly motionless up in her tree, staring 
down through the leaves at Betsy. Uncle Henry 
was turned around on his ladder, one hand on 
an apple as though it had frozen there, staring 

> 

down at Betsy. Aunt Abigail leaned with both 
fat hands on her barrel, staring hard at Betsy. 
Betsy was staring down at her shoes, biting 
her lips and winking her eyes. The yellow, 
hazy October sun sank slowly down toward the 
rim of Hemlock Mountain, and sent long, golden 



■"^. 



'« UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 248 

shafts of light through the branches of the trees 
upon this group of people, all so silent, so mo- 
tionless. 

Betsy was the first to speak, and I^m very- 
proud of her for what she said. She said, 
loyally, **Dear Aunt Frances ! She was always 
so sweet to me! She always tried so hard to 
take care of me I ' ^ 

9 

For that was what Betsy had found up by 
the brook under the big red maple-tree. She 
had found there a certainty that, whatever else 
she did, she must not hurt Aunt Frances's feel- 
ings — dear, gentle, sweet Aunt Frances, whose 
feelings were so easily hurt and who had given 
her so many years of such anxious care. Some- 
thing up there had told her — perhaps the quiet 
blue shadow of Windward Mountain creeping 
slowly over the pasture toward her, perhaps the 
silent glory of the great red-and-gold tree, per- 
haps the singing murmur of the little brook — 
perhaps all of them together had told her that 
now had come a time when she must do more 
than what Cousin Ann would do — ^when she 



244 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

must do what she herself knew was right. And 
that was to protect Aunt Frances from hurt. 

When she spoke, out there in the orchard, 
she hroke the spell of silence. Cousin Ann 
climbed hastily down from her tree, with her 
basket only partly filled. Uncle Henry got stiflBiy 
off his ladder, and Aunt Abigail advanced 
through the grass. And they all said the same 
thing — **Let me see that letter.*' 

They read it there, looking over each other's 
shoulders, with grave faces. Then, still silently, 
they all turned and went back into the house, 
leaving their forgotten bags and barrels and 
baskets out under the trees. When they found 
themselves in the kitchen — ^^*Well, it's supper- 
time, anyhow," said Cousin Ann hastily, as if 
ashamed of losing her composure, **or almost 
time. We might as well get it now." 

"I'm a-going out to milk," said Uncle Henry 
gruflaiy, although it was not nearly his usual 
time. He took up the milk pails and marched 
out toward the bam, stepping heavily, his head 
hanging. 



" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 246 

Shep woke up with a snort and, getting off 
the couch, gamboled clumsily up to Betsy, wag- 
ging his tail and jumping up on her, ready for 
a frolic. That was almost too much for Betsy I 
To think that after tomorrow she would 
never see Shep again — ^nor Eleanor ! Nor the 
kittens ! She choked as she bent over Shep and 
put her arms around his neck for a great hug. 
But she mustn't cry, she mustn't hurt Aunt 
Frances's feelings, or show that she wasn't 
glad to go back to her. That wouldn't be fair, 
after all Aunt Frances had done for her ! 

That night she lay awake after she and Molly 
had gone to bed and Molly was asleep. They 
had decided not to tell Molly until the last 
minute, so she had dropped off peacefully, 
as usual. But poor Betsy's eyes were wide 
open. She saw a gleam of light under the door. 
It widened; the door opened. Aunt Abigail 
stood there, in her night cap, mountainous in 
her long white gown, a candle shining up into 
her serious old face. 

"You awake, Betsy!" she whispered, seeing 



246 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

the child's dark eyes gleaming at her over the 
covers. **I just — ^I just thought I'd look in to 
see if you were all right/' She came to the 
edge of the bed and set the candle down on the 
little stand. Betsy reached her arms up long- 
ingly and the old woman stooped over her. 
Neither of them said a single word during the 
long embrace which followed. Then Aunt Abi- 
gail straightened up hastily, took her candle 
very quickly and softly, and heavily padded 
out of the room. 

Betsy turned over and flung one arm over 
Molly — ^no Molly, either, after tomorrow I 

She gulped hard and stared up at the ceiling, 
dimly white in the starlight. A gleam of light 
shone under the door. It widened, and XJncle 
Henry stood there, a candle in his hand, peer- 
ing into the room. "You awake, Betsy f he 
said cautiously. 

**Yes. I'm awake, Uncle Henry." 

The old man shuffled into the room- "I just 
got to thinking," he said, hesitating, "that 
maybe you'd like to take my watch with you. 



" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES '' 247 

It's kind of handy to have a watch on the train. 
And I'd like real well for you to have it/' 

He laid it down on the stand, his own cher- 
ished gold watch, that had been given him when 
he was twenty-one. 

Betsy reached out and took his hard, gnarled 
old fist in a tight grip. **0h, Uncle Henry!" 
she began, and could not go on. 

**We'll miss you, Betsy," he said in an un- 
certain voice. **It's been . . .it's been real 
nice to have you here. ..." 

And then he too snatched up his candle very 
quickly and almost ran out of the room. 

Betsy turned over on her back. **No crying, 
now!" she told herself fiercely. **No crying, 
now ! ' ' She clenched her hands together tightly 
and set her teeth. 

Something moved in the room. Somebody 
leaned over her. It was Cousin Ann, who didn't 
make a sound, not one, but who took Betsy in 
her strong arms and held her close and closer, 
till Betsy could feel the quick pulse of the 
other 's heart beating all through her own body. 



248 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

Then she was gone — as silently as she came. 

But somehow that great embrace had taken 
away all the burning tightness from Betsy's 
eyes and heart. She was very, very tired, and 
soon after this she fell sound asleep, snug- 
gled up close to Molly. 

In the morning, nobody spoke of last night 
at all. Breakfast was prepared and eaten, and 
the team hitched up directly afterward. Betsy 
and Uncle Henry were to drive to the station 
together to meet Aunt Frances 's train. Betsy 
put on her new wine-colored cashmere that 
Cousin Ann had made her, with the soft white 
collar of delicate old embroidery that Aunt Abi- 
gail had given her out of one of the trunks in 
the attic. 

She and Uncle Henry said very little as they 
drove to the village, and even less as they stood 
waiting together on the platform. Betsy slipped 
her hand into his and he held it tight as the 
train whistled in the distance and came slowly 
and laboriously puflSng up to the station. 

Just one person got off at the little station. 



« UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES '' 249 

and that was Aunt Frances, looking ever so 
dressed up and citified, with a fluffy ostrich- 
feather boa and kid gloves and a white veil 
over her face and a big blue one floating from 
her gay-flowered velvet hat. How pretty she 
was! And how young — ^under the veil which 
hid so kindly all the little lines in her sweet, 
thin face. And how excited and fluttery 1 Betsy 
had forgotten how fluttery Aunt Frances was I 
She clasped Betsy to her, and then started back 
crying — she must see to her suit-case — and then 
she clasped Betsy to her again and shook hands 
with Uncle Henry, whose grim old face looked 
about as cordial and welcoming as the sourest 
kind of sour pickle, and she fluttered back and 
said she must have left her umbrella on the 
train. * * Oh, Conductor I Conductor ! My um- 
brella — right in my seat — a blue one with a 
crooked-over — oh, here it is in my hand ! What 
am I thinking of!" 

The conductor evidently tliought he'd better 
get the train away as soon as possible, for he 
now shouted, ^*A11 aboard !'' to nobody at all, 



260 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

and sprang back on the steps. The train went 
off, groaning over th,e steep grade, and scream- 
ing out its usual echoing warning about the 
next road crossing. 

Uncle Henry took Aunt Frances's suit-case 
and plodded back to the surrey. He got into 
the front seat and Aunt Frances and Betsy in 
the back; and they started off. 

And now I want you to listen to every single 
word that was said on the back seat, for it was 
a very, very important conversation, when 
Betsy's fate hung on the curl of an eyelash and 
the flicker of a voice, as fates often do. 

Aunt Frances hugged Betsy again and again 
and exclaimed about her having grown so big 
and tall and fat — she didn't say brown too, al- 
though you could see that she was thinking that, 
as she looked through her veil at Betsy's tanned 
face and down at the contrast between her own 
pretty, white fingers and Betsy's leather- 
colored, muscular little hands. She exclaimed 
and exclaimed and kept on exclaiming! Betsy 



" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES »' 261 

wondered if she really always had been as flut- 
tery as this. And then, all of a sadden it came 
out, the great news, the reason for the extra 
flntteriness. 

Annt Frances was going to be married I 

Yes I Think of it! Betsy fell back open- 
mouthed with astonishment. 

**Did Betsy think her Aunt Frances a silly 
old thing! ^' 

**0h, Aunt Frances, nor' cried Betsy fer- 
vently. **You look just as young, and pretty I 
Lots younger than I remembered you !'' 

Aunt Frances flushed with pleasure and went 
on, **You'll love your old Aunt Frances just 
as much, won't you, when she's Mrs. Plimp- 
ton!'' 

Betsy put her arms around her and gave her 
a great hug. * * I 'U always love you. Aunt Fr an- 
cesl" she said. 

** You'll love Mr. Plimpton, too. He's so big 
and strong, and he just loves to take care of 
people. He says that's why he's marrying me. 
Don't you wonder where we are going to live!" 



262 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

she asked, answering her own question quickly. 
**We^re not going to live anywhere. Isn't that 
a jokef Mr. Plimpton's business keeps him al- 
ways moving around from one place to another, 
never more than a month anywhere." 

^'What'U Aunt Harriet do!" asked Betsy 
wonderingly. 

**Why, she's ever and ever so much better," 
said Aunt Frances happily. *'And her own 
sister, my Aunt Rachel, has come back from 
China, where she's been a missionary for ever 
so long, and the two old ladies are going to 
keep house together out in California, in the 
dearest little bungalow, all roses and honey- 
suckle. But 2/0 wVe going to be with me. Won't 
it be jolly fun, darling, to go traveling all about 
everywhere, and see new places all the 
time!" 

Now those are the words Aunt Prances said, 
but something in her voice and her face sug- 
gested a faint possibility to Betsy that maybe 

Aunt Frances didn't really think it would be 

« 

Buch awfully jolly fun as her words said. 



** UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 258 

Her heart gave a big jump up, and she had 
to hold tight to the arm of the surrey before 
she could ask, in a quiet voice, **But, Aunt 
Frances, won't I be awfully in your way, travel- 
ing around so r* 

Now, Aunt Frances had ears of her own, and 

» 

though that was what Betsy's words said, what 
Aunt Frances heard was a suggestion that pos- 
sibly Betsy wasn't as crazy to leave Putney 
Farm as she had supposed of course she would 
be. 

They both stopped talking for a moment and 
peered at each other through the thicket of 
words that held them apart. I told you this 
was a very momentous conversation. One sure 
thing is that the people on the back seat saw 
the inside of the surrey as they traveled along, 
and nothing else. Bed sumac and bronzed 
beech-trees waved their flags at them in vain. 
They kept their eyes fixed on each other in- 
tently, each in an agony of fear lest she hurt 
the other's feelings. 

After a pause Aunt Frances came to herself 



264 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

with a start, and said, affectionately putting her 
arm around Betsy, '*Why, you darling, what 
does Aunt Frances care about trouble if her 
own dear baby-girl is happy f 

And Betsy said, resolutely, "Oh, you know, 
Axmt Frances, I'd love to be with you!'* She 
ventured one more step through the thicket. 
**But honestly. Aunt Frances, wonH it be a 
bother . . .V^ 

Aunt Frances ventured another step to meet 
her, "But dear little girls must be some- 
where . . .'' 

And Betsy almost forgot her caution and 
burst out, * * But I could stay here ! I know they 
would keep me!'' 

Even Aunt Frances 's two veils could not hide 
the gleam of relief and hope that came into her 
pretty, thin, sweet face. She summoned all her 
courage and stepped out into the clearing in 
the middle of the thicket, asking right out, 
boldly, "Why, do you like it here, Betsy? 
Woulji you like to stay!" 

And Betsy — she never could remember after- 



« UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES '' 265 

ward if she had been careful enough not to 
shout too loudly and joyfully — ^Betsy cried out, 
* * Oh, I love it here ! ^ ' There they stood, face to 
face, looking at each other with honest and very 
happy eyes. 

Aunt Frances threw her arm around Betsy 
and asked again, '*Are you sure, dear!^' and 
didn't try to hide her relief. And neither did 
Betsy. 

''I could visit you once in a while, when you 
are somewhere near here," suggested Betsy, 
beaming. 

* * Oh, yes, I must have some of the time with 
my darling!'' said Aunt Frances. And this 
time there was nothing in their hearts that con- 
tradicted their lips. 

They clung to each other in speechless satis- 
faction as Uncle Henry guided the surrey up 
to the marble stepping-stone. Betsy jumped 
out first, and while Uncle Henry was helping 
Aunt Frances out, she was dashing up the walk 
like a crazy thing. She flung open the front 
door and catapulted into Aunt Abigail just com- 



266 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

ing out. It was like flinging herself into a 

* 

feather-bed. . . . 

* * Oh I Oh !' * she gasped out. * * Aunt Frances 
is going to be married. And travel around all 
the time! And she doesn't really want 
me at alll Can't I stay here! Can't I stay 
here 1 ' ' 

Cousin Ann was right behind Aunt Abi^til, 
and she heard this. She looked over their shoul- 
ders toward Aunt Frances, who was approach- 
ing from behind, and said, in her usual calm 
and collected voice : '^How do you do, Frances! 
Glad to see you, Frances. How well you're 
looking I I hear you are in for congratulations. 
Who's the happy man!" 

Betsy was overcome with admiration for her 
coolness in being able to talk so in such an ex- 
citing moment. She knew Aunt Abigail couldn't 
have done it, for she had sat down in a rocMng- 
chair, and was holding Betsy on her lap. The 
little girl could see her wrinkled old hand 
trembling on the arm of the chair. 

^^I hqge that means/' continued Cousin Ann, 



« UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES '' 267 

going as nsual straight to the point, ^Hhat we 
can keep Betsy here with us.^' 

**0h, would you like to?^' asked Aunt Fran- 
ces, fluttering, as though the idea had never 
occurred to her before that nainute. ** Would 
Elizabeth Ann really like to stayf 

**0h, I^d like to, all right !^' said Betsy, look- 
ing confidently up into Aunt AbigaiPs face. 

Aunt Abigail spoke now. She cleared her 
throat twice before she could bring out a word 
Then she said, **Why, yes, we'd kind of like to 
keep her. We Ve sort of got used to having her 
around. '' 

That's what she said, but, as you have no^ 
ticed before on this exciting day, what people 
said didn't matter as much as what they looked ; 
and as her old lips pronounced these words so 
quietly the comers of Aunt Abigail's mouth 
were twitching, and she was swallowing hard. 
She said, impatiently, to Cousin Ann, **Hand 
me that handkerchief, Ann!" And as she blew 
her nose, she said, ' ' Oh, what an old fool I am ! " 

Then, all of a sudden, it was as though a 



268 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

great, fresh breeze had blown through the 
house. They all drew a long breath and began 
to talk loudly and cheerfully about the weather 
and Aunt Frances's trip and how Aunt Har- 
riet was and which room Aunt Frances was to 
have and would she leave her wraps down in the 
hall or take them upstairs — ^and, in the midst 
of this, Betsy, her heart ready to burst, dashed 
out of doors, followed by Shep. She ran madly 
toward the bam. She did not know where she 
was going. She only knew that she must run 
and jump and shout, or she would explode. 

Shep ran and jumped because Betsy did. 

To these two wild creatures, careering 
through the air like bright-blown autumn leaves, 
appeared little Molly in the bam door. 

* * Oh, I 'm going to stay ! I 'm going to stay ! ' ' 
screamed Betsy. 

But as Molly had not had any notion of the 
contrary, she only said, **0f course, why not!" 
and went on to something really important, say- 
ing, in a very much capitalized statement, "My 
kitten can walk! It took three steps just now." 



« UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES *' 269 

After Aunt Frances got her wraps off, Betsy 
took her for a tour of inspection. They went 
all over the house first, with special emphasis 
laid on the living-room. ** Isn't this the loveli- 
est placed said Betsy, fervently, looking about 
her at the white curtains, the bright flowers, 
the southern sunshine, the bookcases, and the 
bright cooking utensils. It was all full to the 
brim to her eyes with happiness, and she for- 
got entirely that she had thought it a very poor, . 
common kind of room when she had first seen 
it. Nor did she notice that Aunt Frances 
showed no enthusiasm over it now. 

She stopped for a few moments to wash some 
potatoes and put them into the oven for din- 
ner. Aunt Frances opened her eyes at this. 
**I always see to the potatoes and the apples, 
the cooking of them, I mean,'' explained Betsy 
proudly. **IVe just learned to make apple-pie 
and brown betty." 

Then down into the stone-floored milk-room, 
where Aunt Abigail was working over butter, 
and where Betsy, swelling with pride, showed 



280 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

Aunt Frances how dettij and smoothly she 
conld manipulate the wooden paddle and make 
rolls of butter that weighed within an ounce 
or two of a pound. 

<* Mercy, child I Think of your being able to 
do such things!" said Aunt Frances, more and 
more astonished 

They went out of doors now, Shep bounding 
by their side, Betsy was amazed to see that 
Aunt Frances drew back, quite nervously, when- 
ever the big dog frisked near her. Out in the 
bam Betsy had a disappointment. Aunt Fran- 
ces just balked absolutely at those ladder-like 
stairs — ^**0h, I coiddnH! I couldn% dear. Do 
you go up there? Is it quite safe!" 

'*"Why, Aunt Abigail went up there to see the 
kittens!" cried Betsy, on the edge of exaspera- 
tion. But her heart softened at the sight of 
Aunt Frances's evident distress of mind at the 
very idea of climbing into the loft, and she 
brought the kittens down for inspection, Elea- 
nor mewing anxiously at the top of the stairs. 

On the way back to the house they had an 



" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES '» 261 

adventure, a sort of adventure, and it brought 
home to Betsy once for all how much she loved 
dear, sweet Aunt Frances, and just what kind 
of love it was. 

As they crossed the barnyard the calf ap- 
proached them playfully, leaping stiff-legged 
into the air, and making a pretense of butting 
at them with its hornless young head. 

Betsy and Shep often played with the calf 
in this way by the half -hour, and she thought 
nothing of it now ; hardly noticed it, in fact. 

But Aunt Frances gave a loud, piercing 
shriek, as though she were being cut into pieces. 
*'Helpl Helpl'' she screamed. "Betsy! Oh, 
Betsy!'' 

She had turned as white as a sheet and could 
not take a single step forward. "It's nothing! 
It's nothing!" said Betsy, rather impatiently. 
"He's just plajdng. We often play with him, 
Shep and I." 

The calf came a little nearer, with lowered 
head. ^^Oet away!" said Betsy indifferently, 
kicking at him. 



262 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

At this hint of masterfulness on Betsy's part, 
Aunt Frances cried out, *'0h, yes, Betsy, do 
make him go away I Do make him go away!*' 

It came over Betsy that Aunt Frances was 
really frightened, yes, really; and all at once 
her impatience disappeared, never to come back 
again. She felt toward Aunt Frances just as 
she did toward little Molly, and she acted ac- 
cordingly. She stepped in front of Aunt Fran- 
ces, picked up a stick, and hit the calf a blow 
on the neck with it. He moved away, startled 
and injured, looking at his playfellow with re- 
proachful eyes. But Betsy was relentless, 
Aimt Frances must not be frightened ! 

"Here, Shep! Here, ShepI*' she called 
loudly, and when the big dog came bounding to 
her she pointed to the calf and said sternly, 
"Take him into the bam I Drive him into the 
bam, sir I*' 

Shep asked nothing better than this com- 
mand, and charged forward, barking furiously 
and leaping into the air as though he intended 
to eat the calf up alive. The two swept across 



" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES »' 268 

the barnyard and into the lower regions of the 
bam. In a moment Shep reappeared, his 
tongae hanging ont, his tail wagging, his eyes 
glistening, very proud of himself, and mounted 
guard at the door. 

Aunt Frances hurried along desperately 
through the gate of the barnyard. As it fell to 
behind her she sank down on a rock, breathless, 
still pale and agitated. Betsy threw her arms 
around her in a transport of affection. She felt 
that she understood Aunt Frances as nobody 
else could, the dear, sweet, gentle, timid aunt! 
She took the thin, nervous white fingers in her 
strong brown hands. *'0h, Aunt Frances, dear, 
darling Aunt Frances!*' she cried, **how I wish 
I could always take care of you." 

The last of the red and gold leaves were 
slowly drifting to the ground as Betsy and 
Uncle Henry drove back from the station 
after seeing Aunt Frances off. They were not 
silent this time, as when they had gone to meet 
her. They were talking cheerfully together, 



264 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

laying their plans for the winter which was so 
near. ^^I must begin to bank the house to- 
morrow, '' mused Unde Henry. '*And those 
apples have got to go to the cider-mill, right 
off. Don't you want to ride over on top of 
them, Betsy, and see 'em made into cider t" 

*'0h, my, yes I'' said Betsy, **that will be 
fine I And I must put away Deborah's summer 
clothes and get Cousin Ann to help me m£^e 
some warm ones, if I'm going to take her to 
school in cold weather." 

As they drove into the yard, they saw Eleanor 
coming from the direction of the bam with 
something big and heavy in her mouth. She 
held her head as high as she could, but even so, 
her burden dragged on the ground, bumping 
softly against the rough places on the path. 
**Look!" said Betsy. *' Just see that great rat 
Eleanor has caught!" 

Uncle Henry squinted his old eyes toward the 
cat for a moment and laughed. ''We're not the 
only ones that are getting ready for winter," 
he remarked. 



•* UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES '* 265 

Betsy did not know what he meant and 
climbed hastily over the wheel and ran to see. 
As she approached Eleanor, the cat laid her 
burden down with an air of relief and looked 
trustfully into her little mistress's face. Why, 
it was one of the kittens ! Eleanor was bringing 
it to the house. Oh, of course! they mustn't 
stay out there in that cold hayloft now the cold 
weather was drawing near. Betsy picked up 
the little sprawling thing, trying with weak legs 
to get around over the rough ground. She car- 
ried it carefully toward the house, Eleanor 
walking sinuously by her side and * talking'' in 
little singing, purring miauws to explain her 
ideas of kitten-comfort. Betsy felt that she 
quite understood her. *'Yes, Eleanor, a nice 
little basket behind the stove with a warm piece 
of an old blanket in it. Yes, I'll fix it for you. 
It'll be lovely to have the whole family there. 
And I'll bring the other one in for you." 

But evidently Eleanor did not understand 
little-girl talk as well as Betsy understood cat- 
talk, for a little later, as Betsy turned from the 



266 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

nest she was making in the comer behind the 
stove, Eleanor was missing; and when she ran 
out toward the bam she met her again, her 
head strained painfully back, dragging another 
fat, heavy kitten, who curled his pink feet up 
as high as he could in a vain effort not to have 
them knock against the stones. '^Now, Elea- 
nor,*' said Betsy, a little put out, "you don't 
trust me enough! I was going to get it all 
right I'' 

**Well,'' said Aunt Abigail, as they came into 
the kitchen, "now you must begin to teach them 
to drink." 

"Goodness I'* said Betsy, "don't they know 
how to drink already?" 

"You try them and see," said Aunt Abigail 
with a mysterious smile. 

So when Uncle Henry brought the pails full of 
fragrant, warm milk into the house, Betsy poured 
out some in a saucer and put the kittens up to 
it. She and Molly squatted down on their heels 
to watch, and before long they were laughing 
so that they were rolling on the kitchen floor. 



^* UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 267 

At first the kittens looked every way but at the 
milky seeming to see everything but what was 
raider their noses. Then Graykin (that was 
Betsy's) absent-mindedly walked right through 
the saucer, emerging with very wet feet and a 
very much aggrieved and astonished expres- 
sion. Molly screamed with laughter to see him 
shake his little pink toes and finally sit down 
seriously to lick them clean. Then White-bib 
(Molly's) put his head down to the saucer. 

** There! Mine is smarter than yours!'* said 
Molly. But White-bib went on putting his head 
down, down, down, clear into the milk nearly 
up to his eyes, although he looked very fright- 
ened and miserable. Then he jerked it up 
quickly and sneezed and sneezed and sneezed, 
such deliciously funny little baby sneezes ! He 
pawed and pawed at his little pink nose with his 
little pink paw until Eleanor took pity on him 
and came to wash him off. In the midst of this 
process she saw the milk, and left off to lap it 
up eagerly; and in a jiffy she had drunk every 
drop and was licking the saucer loudly with her 



2C8 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

raspy tongue. And that was the end of the 
kittens' first lesson. 

That evening, as they sat aronnd the lamp, 
Eleanor came and got np in Betsy's lap jnst 
like old times. Betsy was playing checkers 
with Uncle Henry and interrapted the game to 
welcome the cat back delightedly. Bnt Eleanor 
was uneasy, and kept stopping her toilet to 
prick np her ears and look restlessly toward the 
basket, where the kittens lay curled so closely 
together that they looked like one soft ball of 
gray fur. By and by Eleanor jumped down 
heavily and went back to the basket. She 
stayed there only a moment, standing over the 
kittens and licking them convulsively, and then 
she came back and got up in Betsy's lap again. 

**What ails that cat!" said Cousin Ann, not- 
ing this pacing and restlessness. 

** Maybe she wants Betsy to hold her kittens, 
too," suggested Aunt Abigail. 

**0h, I'd love to I" said Betsy, spreading out 
her knees to make her lap bigger. 

**But I want my own White-bib myself I' ' said 



« UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES ^ 269 

Molly, looking up from the beads she was 
stringing. 

**Well, maybe Eleanor would let you settle 
it that way," said Cousin Ann. 

The little girls ran over to the basket and 
brought back each her own kitten. Eleanor 
watched them anxiously, but as soon as they 
sat down she jumped up happily into Betsy's 
lap and curled down close to little Graykin. 
This time she was completely satisfied, and her 
loud purring filled the room with a peaceable 
murmur. 

*^ There, now you're fixed for the winter,'' 

said Aunt AbigaiL 

By and by, after Cousin Ann had popped 
some com, old Shep got off the couch and came 
to stand by Betsy's knee to get an occasional 
handful. Eleanor opened one eye, recognized a 
friend, and shut it sleepily. But the little kit- 
ten woke up in terrible alarm to see that hideous 
monster so near him, and prepared to sell his 
life dearly. He bristled up his ridiculous little 
tail, opened his absurd, little pink mouth in a 



270 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 

soft, baby s — s — s — , and struck savagely at 
old Shep's good-natnred face with a soft little 
paw. Betsy felt her heart overflow with amuse- 
ment and pride in the intrepid little morseL 
She burst into laughter, but she picked it up and 
held it lovingly close to her cheek. What fun 
it was going to be to see those kittens grow up ! 

Old Shep padded back softly to the couch, his 
toe-nails clicking on the floor, hoisted himself 
heavily up, and went to sleep. The kitten sub- 
sided into a ball again. Eleanor stirred and 
stretched in her sleep and laid her head in utter 
trust on her little mistress's hand. After that 
Betsy moved the checkers only with her other 
hand. 

In the intervals of the game, while Uncle 
Henry was pondering over his moves, the Uttle 
girl looked down at her pets and listened ab- 
sently to the keen autumnal wind that swept 
around the old house, shaking the shutters and 
rattling the windows. A stick of wood in the 
stove burned in two and fell together with a 
soft, whispering sound. The lamp cast a steady 



i 



" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRAI^CES '' 271 

radiance on Uncle Henry bent seriously over 
the checker-board, on Molly's blooming, round 
cheeks and bright hair, on Aunt Abigail's 
rosy, cheerful, wrinkled old face, and on Cousin 
Ann's quiet, clear, dark eyes. . . . 

That room was full to the brim of something 
beautiful, and Betsy knew what it was. Its 
name was Happiness. 



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letters from all over the country asking special advice. 
Mothers and Children, running along its easy, half- 
humorous way, answers all these questions and gives 
the clue to the answer of ten thousand more. 

"The Tarnishing Eye of Relations" is the title of 
one chapter. Some other chapters are "The Sliding 
Scale for Obedience"; "A New Profession for 
Women : Question Answerer" ; "When I Am a Grand- 
mother"; "Nurse or Mother"; Mothers-by-Chance 
and Mothers-by-Choice." 

"A book of help for the most complicated and important enterpriao 
in the world — ^the rearing of children, it gives the wisdom of an expert 
in the language of a friend 'just talking.' '^—New York Evenmff Post. 

* ■ ,11 I I I.I I ■ , ■ , 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS MEW YOU 



By CARROLL. WATSON RANKIN 

STORIES FOR GIRLS 

THE CINDER POND 

Illustrated by Ada C. Williamson. $L35 net. 

Years ago, a manufacturer built a great dock, jutting oni 
from and then turning parallel to the shore of a northern 
Michigan town. The factory was abandoned, and following 
the habits of small towns, the space between the dock and 
the diore became "The Cinder Pond." Jean started life in the 
colony of squatters that came to live m the shanties on the 
dodk, but fortune, heroism, and a mystery combine to change 
her fortunes and those of her friends near the Cinder Pond. 

THE CASTAWAYS OF PETE'S PATCH 

Illustrated by Ada C Williamson. $1.35 net. 

A tale of fiye girls tnd two youthful grown-ups who enjoyed 
unpremeditated camping. 

DANDEUON COTTAGE 

>^lustrated by Mmes. Shinn and Finley. $1.35 net. 

Four young girls secure the use of a tumbledown cottage. 
They set up housekeeping under numerous disadvantages, and 
have many amusements and queer experiences. 



"A capital story. It is refreshing to come tipon an author who can 
tell us about real little girls, with sensible ordinary parents, girls who 
are neither phenomenal xwr silly." — Outlook* 

THE ADOPTING OF ROSA MARIE 

A sequel to "Dandelion Cottage." Illustrated by Mrs. Shinn. 

$1.35 net. 

The little girls who played at keeping house in the earlier 
book, enlarge their activities to the extent of playing mother 
%o a little Indian girL 

"^hose who have read "Dandelion Cottage* will need no urging to 
follow further. ... A lovable group of four real children, happily not 
perfect, but full of girlish plans and pranks. ... A delightful sense 
of humor." — Boston Transcript, 

THE GIRLS OF GARDENVILLE 

Illustrated by Mary Wellman. 12mo.. $1.35 net 
Interesting, amusing, and natural stories of a girls' duh» 

"WiU captivate as man^ adults as if it were written for them. • • • 
The secret of Mrs. Rankin's charm is her naturalness . . . real girls 
. . . not young ladies with 'pigtails/ but girls of sixteen who are not 
twenty-five ... as original as amusing." — Boston Transact, 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

PUBUSHEBS ITEW YOBS 



BY ALICE CALHOUN HAINES 

For Yotmg FcJk^fnm 9 to 16 Yean oU. 

PARTNERS FOR FAIR 

With illustrations by Faith Avery. $1.35 net 

A story full of action, not untinged by pathos, of a boy 
and his faithful dog and their wanderings after the poor- 
house bums down. They have interesting experiences with a 
traveling circus ; the boy is thrown from a moving train, and 
has a lively time with the Mexican Insurrectos, from whom he 
is rescued by our troops. 

THE LUCK OF THE DUDLEY GRAHAMS 

Illustrated by Francis Day. 300 pp., i2mo. $1.35 net. 

A family story of city life. Lightened by humor and as 
airship. 

"Among the very best of books for young folks. Appeab especially 
to girls." — Wisconsin List for To^mship Libraries, 

*Tromises to be perennially popular. A family of happy» healthy, 
inventive, bright children make the best of restricted conditions and 
prove themselves masters of circumstances/'— CAm^ian Register, 

"Sparkles with cleverness and humor." — Brooklyn Eagle, 

COCK-A-DOODLE HILL 

A sequel to the above. Illustrated by Francs Day. 

296 pp., i2mo. $1.35 net. 

"Cockle-a-doodle Hill" is where the Dudley Graham family 
went to live when they left New York, and here Ernie started 
her chicken-farm, with one solitary fowl, "Hennerietta." The 
pictures of country scenes and the adventures and experiences 
of this household of young people are very life-like. 

"No better book for young people than 'The Luck of the Dudley 
Grahams* was offered last year. 'Cock-a-Doodle Hill' is another of 
similar quaXi^eB,"— Philadelphia Press. 

m 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

roBUSHEBS Cnii'12) MSW TOKK 



BOOKS FOR GIRLS 

By BBULAH MARIB DiX 



BETTY-BIDE-AT-HOME 

Illustrated by Faith Avery. i2mo. $1.25 net 

A story of family life. Betty is just ready for college, her 
brother is studying medicine, her sister is almost able to make 
her own way in the world, when a sudden catastrophe compels 
Betty to choose between her own ambitions and her mother's 
happiness. Betty stays at home and learns many things, among 
them the fact that duty and success can be combined. The 
account of her literary ventures will help girls who want to 
write. 

Betty is a spirited, energetic, lovable girl. The style and 
atmosphere of the story are both better than is usually the 
case in girls' stories. 

FRIENDS m THE END 

Illustrated by Faith Avery. i2mo. $1^25 net. 

An out-of-door story for girls which tells how Doro- 
thea Marden went, under protest, from the city to spend the 
summer at a farm in the New Hampshire mountains ; how she 
met Jo Gilford from South Tuxboro, who had red hair, and 
knew she shouldn't like her, but did; how Dorothea and Jo, at 
the farm, fell out with the young folks close by at Camp Com- 
fort; how they carried on the war, with varying success, and 
how they were sorry that they did so, and how they were glad 
in the end to make peace. 

"Will attract boys and girls equally and be good for both."— Out/tfoXr. 

"More than the usual plot and literary completenes8.''-^Am<»afi 
Register, 



HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

FDBUSHERS viu'12 NEW YORK 



COMPANION STORIES OF COUNTRY LIFE 

FOR BOYS By CHARLES V. BURTON 

THE BOYS OF BOB'S HILL 

Blttstrated by Geosgb A. Williams. 12m6« $1.25* 

A livdj stoij of a party of boys in a small New England 
town. 

"A fint-rate jurenfle • r « « real story for the live bumati bor-<iiiy 
boy will read it eagerly to the end • • • quite thrilling adYenturea."<^ 
Chicago Record-Herola, 

"Tom Sawyer wotild have been a worthy member of the BoVa Hill 
crowd and shared their good times and thrilling adventures with 
uncommon relish. ... A jolly group of youngsters as nearly true to 
the real thing in boy nature as one can ever expect to find between 
wwtn»"r'-Christian Register. 

THE BOB'S CAVE BOYS 

Illustrated by Victor Perasd. $1.30 net. 

*^t would be hard to find anything better in the literature of New 

England boy life. Healthy, red-blooded, human boys, full of fun, 

into trouble and out again, but frank, honest, and dean."— 7Ji»^ Com- 
grogationalis** 

THE BOB'S HILL BRAVES 

Illustrated by H. S. DeLay. 12mo. $1.30 net. 

The "Bob's Hill" band spend a vacation in Illinois, where 
they play at being Indians, hear thrilling tales of real Indians, 
and learn much frontier history. A history of especial inter- 
est to "Boy Scouts." 

"Merry youngsters. Capital. Thrilling tales of thh red men and 
explorers. These healthy red-blooded. New England boys." — PMU- 
delphia Press* 

THE BOY SCOUTS OP BOB'S HttX 

Illustrated by Gordon Grant. 12mo. $1.30 net. 

The "Bob's Hill" band organizes a Bo:^ Scouts band and 
have many adventures. Mr. Burton brings in tales told around 
a camp-fire of La Salle, Joliet, the Louisiana Purchase, and 
the Northwestern Reservation. 

CAMP BOB'S HILL 

' Illustrated by Gordon Grant. $1.30 net. 
A tale of Boy Scouts on their summer vacation. 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS l^EW YORI( 



By ALFRED^BISHOP MASON 

« 

TOM STRONG^ WASHINGTON'S SCOUT 

\ Illustrated. $125 net. 

A story of adventure.^* The principal characters, a boy and 
a trapper, are in the Revolutionary army from the defeat at 
Brooklyn to the victory at Yorktown. 

"The most important events of the Revolution and much general his- 
torical information are woven into this interesting and very well con- 
structed story of Tom and a trapper, who serve their country bravely 
and well. Historical details are correctly given." — American Library 
Association Booklet, 



..* 



^TOM STRONG, BOY-CAPTAIN 

Illustrated. $1.25 net, 

Tom Strong and a sturdy old trapper take part in such 
stirring events following the Revolution as the Indian raid 
with Crawford and a flat-boat voyage from Pittsburgh to 
New Orleans, etc. 

TOM STRONG, JUNIOR 

Illustrated. $1.25 net. 

The story of the son of Tom Strong in the young United 
States. Tom sees the duel between Alexander Hamilton and 
Aaron Burr ; is in Washington during the presidency of Jef- 
ferson; is on board of the ** Clermont" on its first trip, and 
serves in the United States Navy during the War of 1812. 

TOM STRONG, THIRD 

Illustrated. $1.30 net. 

Tom Strong, Junior's son helps his father build the first rail- 
road in the United States and then goes with Kit Carson on 
the Lewis and Clarke Expedition. 



HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

PUBUSHERS NEW YORK